what could have been
i am not worried they are at a considerable distance from my end of worries. flame store turned to dust. it was a long time coming. we still set up the daily trudgeries so that a life, although we count it in years, amounts to nothing. poop out something a little different, something that could be called an achievement; the complete works of Lenin, take from it whatever the fuck you can. And from the long and wandering recitation of Muhamet, violin dreams. you, Sophie, you slipped in over me lastnight. was i only dreaming? don't get me wrong, you turn me on, but i thought we were only dancing. you were getting out of this mixed up relationship, the toing and froing over a great expanse of land, but thinking breathing pragmatic me did not see it coming.