Maybe it’s everything that’s going on, but human beings are feeling lost now more than ever. Everything smalls like salad dressing. Neon gas is nearly a smog doubling as Northern Lights of the Lunar year. Not being able to grip your fist hard enough. Tentative plans. Never-ending cycles of killcare. That time the car flipped. The demolition derby a week later. Mud in thy mouth. Platypus bag and straw full of TGIF brand-name White Russian mudslide mix. Throwing up a cake to bake in the toilet. And spinal fluid like a shot of fried squid in the basement of some mall in the earth.
Look at the wall listening to Sad AI. Feel the Dural pleasures of PLUS100 Records. Hang time a tear:
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