Not sure of this reality; I’m on the subway, again. If this is just a dream, again, on the subway, but maybe in a different lens. Something dripped. Raincore that’s mostly hail at a soft, distance. Gentle caress of the tandem harmony. Nothing so simple ever comes. Alone at a gathering ground that’ll populate in —maybe— 15-20 minutes. Maybe nobody comes at all.
Facial recognition. A pin-point that pricks the speed of acupuncture. Relax, but at a cost. Fixation of the individual in some capitalist-run pandemonium. Delirious on. An instinct in. Outcome is miles a part. A pin-point part of the prick that accentuates the speed of relaxed fixation. Capitalism is the suicide of society.
Virtual Dream Plaza folds the materialism into layers of propaganda in the new Origami Girl cassette/digital release of Love You Like Anything. Fucking cry about it:
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