Don’t. Don’t even say it.
Either the face of Barthes or a wall, green, leading me into Walgreens.
Either the seaweed in the dream of a seal wrapped in seaweed, sleeping, or
the three hearts of the octopus: two for pumping blood through two gills,
& one for pumping blood through the body.
Listening to this music, midair, in a window, sideways, these windows
which are made of glass, which is mostly made of quartz,
which is otherwise known as sand, which comes most
plentifully from the desert. Listening to the desert.
Atomic warfare. Vaporwave warfare;
Internet troll palace. Constructive listening. Theories. On-my-shit
Type-shit with my shit. I can write a theory about this music in
3
2
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Go listen, below:
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