No Soviet Union.
Summer of 2001. I was truly, truly happy. Coffee every morning, early. Coffee, ivy, bicycle helmet. Traffic. Class. Class. Class. Sara and I walking around UMFA. Me and the curly-headed guy pretending we were too cool for skool. Bagel. Morning. Fountain in front of Marriott. Desert. Iran. Bedouin. Black wool black sheep black storm white desert. Sunshine. Architecture.
125 S. 900 E. #14, Salt Lake City, 84102
Up and down and up again, and in between, leaves and leaves and leaves and seasons and summer and winter and all of the things that forgot you.
Don’t forget your dreams.
Don’t remember your dreams.
It is too easy to be cynical when you are not happy. It is too easy to be happy when you are not cynical.
Summers. I hate summers. Apart from 2001, everything bad, ever, has happened during the summer. My whole life has been ruled by problem summers. After, the winter has healed them. 2001 was simply an aberration.
I am an ape, I make connections. I make connections. Connectivity jones. Connectivity Rockefeller. Connectivity science method Jackson Five. Connectivity purple placid wanker thighs.
I must find winter. W I N T E R.
to forget, I drank
and drank on the cusp of tomorrow
until the entire book of faces
disappeared beneath the black evening waves
and I too was forgotten
I too was forgotten
A L A R M