Writing the story of Dave. Saying I’m no good for you. Mood not now. Progression and our future. Friends family change and simple pleasures. The breakdown of balanced between psychophysicality. Company, play, thoughts and sex. Physical attractiveness as some sort of shamanistic talent. Nobody would think twice if my face was ugly and my hands were broken. Nobody will remember these limited trajectories. No stopping, naked staring. Fear and shock. Dwarf any humble thoughts of the future. A cheek of back and forth. Flat grimaces of unhiding eyes. Want more? 

Raver Dave story. The drum. Toast, bread, Apple picking and the broken hand.

Freud talked freely from his own perspective. He liked women I think and he justified their dreams with his own logic. Learning fro others he tried to safely and rhythmically peruse a truth that nobody was willing to tackle which was the savage in-education of people. We’ll look for answers in things that we don’t understand. (Such as Wallace and Grommit) – and we do not understand out individual/collective dreams. Which is to say the plans of others rarely correspond to our own dreams in process or actualisations.

This means that when we dream. There is no drama it’s strictly a departure from the things we know as we engage with Play. 

Dear pure blonde

My heart for you- 

Like a pissed on fire

Questionably poison.

Boys on vacation

Change station- vacation

Masturbation, annihilation fixation destination. 

Demonstrating my crap mind. 

The wanting was not stable. Horse bled.

Ironically. Tooth brushes his return. Music to

My ears and the lights. A safe change. The prince of water and layers excess. Double that- time and size next to eachother. Zoo-bandicoot. Pay me back later. Brother. Ailment. Ali. Do the shit for real. Weird and white. Albino black. And and and..,

Glass in my middle finger. Left hand. Having done the washing up. Where can we find the time to fix the house? Warm and loved- not books, not rooms, not sink nor cupboard have I the time.

Relax. Polymath.