The rains came and washed us all away, and it was painful good. The sheets were in the streets and offline. The beats were pushing out your feet as you walked to work and back, the rhythms had to find their way into the greater sound. The image of what we once were working toward dematerialized again, and it was painful good.
Without saying anything, can i stand letting you miss me entirely? In your all caps demeanor. Your bold face. Project jaw. Maybe we have been online too much, can we waterproof the devices and take them in the shower? I wanna exfoliate your facebook. Into another decade. A dimension floated out upon an ocean shelf. Waiting for the tectonic plate shift. Fuck all and painful good.
Should I forgive the foggy weed, too much tar baby tar, sheets of white snow blanketing your septum. You could have showered more and shaved. I see you in the star wars. The acid razed the ego. I took the kids by their little hands, the orphans hung out their shingles in a palm. Then we all stuffed in there, creaking chairs in the dark, buttered popcorn and wrinkling plastic chipped off the corners by a fingernail, straws drawn like bows across the plastic. Waiting for what.
Make them hum again. Some easy screen in some hood, and painful good. Predictable lazy guesswork again and again and again. Firestorm; the white light is infected. I went to suck the foam off my latte and got puss. I had to retreat to google plus. They might love me there, I thought. They would love you, too. So little did we know. The painful good in all of it, all.