the character

in hot tin, was chasing the click every night. here, close to the ocean it feels like crashing. the wave is distinct, enjoyable and difficult. and every fixation finds it's home, even orphaned amongst the multitudes. lost in place. at one with space. friends exchanging letters in the modern sense, our stories drawn with crayons. we talk like warning labels, each one of us, basking in our own mistakes. so this is my last pack, turkish documentaries, procrastination and nightlife. this asshole said that artists never tell their secrets, i'm simmering. the tobacco burns to a nub. liquor store, american spirits, coloring books. the good news is we were children. our problems start and live there but we get to be children forever. and that's good news. I stayed awake while you coughed because I loved you.