i sit there talking to the air; i talk to those who arn't online more than to those who actually are. is there some kind of quantum cleverness to have there? some way to say schrodinger's chat got ahold of me? you were both alive & dead when i text messaged you. i could not determine your velocity. (the only requirement i have of life is oxygen) today reading some "compendium of things you want to know" book i head the term "downhill" used to describe venus & mercury. i'd never heard this as an expression, but it was utterly discernable in meaning; i think it is some grand use of language. because i mean, it is downhill, in a very important solar system scale way. these are the sorts of thoughts that hang in the halo about my head. i could try to pluck more from the stream. i have this rusty hook, & sometimes, at times, these thoughts are salmon spawing upstream. it is akward for me- i grow enamoured with cleverness to easily. but then, i am far more enchanted by purpose & function. i suppose these feet (these flipper feet! my mutations, faint, growing, metastizing, having a silhoutter & a shape) but i wander across the desert of my self seeking mirages. i wrap my hands in cerament cloth, in voile & glamour. fuck, man. maybe you havn't heard about me. i'm really fucking great. mind not this scowl & slouch. there is no defeat so great it can break me. i've proved that, at least. i'm now to shake off these cobwebs & weave a more steady web. a trap to catch her heart. perfumed with the phil specter production effect!