Post-Echo Blackout Drift
You have a sound that follows. Assume
what happens after a couple of bars,
a couple of napkins, a comic book soundtrack
we make with the spinal-cord crash.
Take two: Years and in between started
to entertain new ways to fight against time,
where we are bogged down, oversaturated
from Internet phenomenology, quantum
sound, a lecture featuring the subconscious
of Val Kilmer.
We wanted the drift.
Everything is happening at once.
There is no time whatsoever to grasp. I’ve
thought—the stories, characters, variations, char-
acter—who I am today I will be tomorrow, who
I was yesterday—variations, selfsame, abandoned.
We had been
talking about a movie, kicking roots,
the low hum building at night
a little less fun than a jigsaw of
ourselves lodestar small among others.
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