onethousand lines interweaving through walls and buildings, crossing and hatching new, speeding slowly to poke holes through bricks as paint crumbles. this is the image that comes to me as i walk off the 75 at piramide. this is all, and maybe it is the effects of a lingering (anthropoclaustrophobic) sense of disorder.
[he bops, he skips, they can't help looking, what are they thinking?]
the country has disappointed me, i refuse to be governed by a human joke.