June 15

Looking back on my art. My god I'm out of practice. Like coping out of print vinyl in a used section of amoeba. (Mother, go to your ocean. It is so close. I was invited to try surfing. Your cousin. My mother's cousin. My aunt? Or also my cousin. Blood? Migration?) There is a pass and a twenty minute divide. No job allowed in this household full of choked laughter and awkward blessings passed between the more tense individuals. Sibling rivalry and a shit-talk father. Sometimes they all get like that. Having much less to do than talk about achievement. No more room for achieving. Jupiter has engagement rings. No one know how hard you tried to take it back. But we are here. The studio. Do they want to relocate once again? Or is there something in the air that everyone breathes? Quitting the cigarettes. Making him anxious. We want to practice they want to discuss things. Keep the meetings separate or separate your face. Good heart soul and you are a grand dad of electric speeches. Going off on tangents others seem to lose track of. I try my best to be polite and to be respectful. I wish nothing better for them but I feel like they've all strained themselves to move out here, friendless. A house is not a home. I am also lost. Similar mindset in my skull. Where are my friends? Will anything happen other than a closer band with the band? I haven't even talked to anyone else. Margeritas and fajitas by candlelight. Watch the dogs wrestle like a television match. Worthy to bet over. Herald your cloaked masking tape. hear my gregarious hamstring. there is no meanig here, boy. you are less than on your own suspended beneath the two largest suspension bridges. pass out while writing I wonder if i can get again a complete thought. eyes are closing and this is entirely too difficult to maintain