Be sure to enclose your capture devices. The maintain and manateasers and glum-locked tapers all boil back to the his-tone oratory. Subtle arguments and knowing, tired ways and seeing; hefting the cloud and weight over to more realizations better kept internally cos the damn________ and _______ ain't gonna buy you a ticket to zen anyway. Anyway. ANYWAY. Shot like a dog, left over the drapes, sprawls on the Alps, holes in the lakes, rams in the brain (for better can aperature): tease days (yes, looking lurid and alluring) come to their hairy closes. It's not bad, nor sad wasted, nor should it have been really noted to begin with. Thoughts are blips... better they go shared with nay sedges and time read blotters or simple acts of overt hyped belch and dumb (ing) the soil for another period of peace. Bothering with this when the nice days go by and you're tossing rocks into forbidden pools like a kid again or having another beer with another chap in another country who also happens to be a lot like you, in design, in outlook, in nuance, in sarcophagus (or any other reason to include that word).  I know a few things more: the feeling returns, for one, and it's the one thing I cannot tell you about. Second to this though are all the beginnings again... ripening, cold with mountain rain, hungover with vodka and stinky forty miles worth of dreadlocks... hardships, surprises, sailing backwards again in a train to a new place cos you have to get out. A lifetime in a day, a despondent correlation correspondent nutritional endeavor of perfect one-off staring, wondering the hell and hell again this engine-river-fool... eeeh, the bother is moot. See you on the other side, they say? One hell of a thing to say before another show.