Jan 4

Maybe the heat is too great. Everything melts into the slipstream. Get lost in eyes and for words. Dimples to define a generation. Heart picks up speed with each rhythm and beat. Musically speaking I've been quarantined to understand everything with such depth and intensity that I could translate freely and without any logical reservations. Designs fall apart at the seams. We are left now with remains of ideas, scattered like ashes. Kill the momentum this feels like I'm taking you nowhere once again. But that might be expected at this point.