somebody glued holga lenses to my eyes. tape me.
everything right now is a dream. with no positive or negative undercurrent. simply surreal. this unseasonably cold friday morning makes my cigarettes taste sour and my vision seem cloudier. lift yr skinny fists like antennas to heaven. a few hours ago, yesterday felt more like thursday than this new day feels like friday. maybe i'm not sure about this, but the days of the week seem to have less and less to do with a lunar month. an individual weekend should seem more plural. they don't sleep anymore on the beach.