Wailing Walls of Miami
a culture of malice breeds violence of every kind our will lacks foresight and we mean fucking business. small worlds collide into a broken language and my t.v. just draws maps of progress. our kind lacks the will to survive, a nominal will of a people I can love and cherish as my own, as I should as I think I should. but I defer to slight misanthropy, simply defer to my baser instincts, my nominal will, my predisposition to caustic reading but we still write our destinies on the passing pavement. with each passing dollar I doom, irrevocably I doom.
Beach people burn.
Look up to the sun.
Burn to death.
Aokigahara
breathe in smoke inhale fire, exhale Saturn. our blood runs slow with cosmic fibers, blistered clamor, badass reverb. i can't speak, i can't breathe, i don't mind. one voice calls out in the cosmic fugue.