two big-ass cloudshatching plans like pokemon eggs a safe yet relevant metaphor knowing how you hate the taste of those hanging on your tongue w/ your coffee breath but like whatever man remember the moon remember the alamo remember the titans remember on sports day may 11, 1994 when mr. smith's ball-sack floated out his shorts on the high-jump this was before we had accessible internet a month before netscape was found looking ahead to weezer themed chat-rooms short-lived eagle eye cherry msg boards when you were the size of a sears brand beginner guitar or other eight-year-old children big-haired / blue-eyes rly into beekeeping atm thinkin' abt midwifery soon auto-tune the sound of my future dentures biting into a sandwich just like this i wish (i wish) i wish so we spend all of 2008 in child's pose because at the vry least we need our lives to be a stretch so happy in this "brand new" & brown vintage scarf so happy in this new set of arms so happy in this drugstore where an akon song is playing so happy & so gay safe from harm we hug ourselves knees to heart knowing nothing lasts forever even seal is going to die hopefully not for a long-ass time baby's day out (1994)900 fire extinguishers exploding in the trunk of my subaru hatchback for a music video being shot in south africa. wow, holy fuck! a rose-red screen fades to pitch black as our producer peeks out the window through a crack in the venetian blinds. you've been reading bret easton ellis again, i can tell. i am going through my mumble-core phase, finding bibles in the sky, questioning everything except these rad-as-hell dogs in this wide-open wal-mart parking lot. long post-rock interludes to hardcore songs, delida of buttercups, the dylan thomas sky. i understand more about ryan gosling's character in "blue valentine" but i am not saying that i relate to him. you made it out. father had his surgery. i rub this daisy into my palm and know that i am leaving. spanish birds fly into my lungs, closing my throat. yes, this is beautiful and perfect. we stop to wonder where this quilt came from. i ask if i can hold your hand again. i am addicted to saving, but boy do i ever want that lawn-chair. tell me again who taught you the cold water extraction method and exactly how she died. make me a real tight fist by the mid-field boxcar at night. we kick up, with hot soft light under big october sky and we are shaky high. ✱✱✱
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