Rusty survival breathes heavily and throws up its hands in capitulation while needs give way to endless wants (reason seems to be almost extinct, bleeding in the streets and on the freeways burning with effervescence over its suffering) I try to think back to when we were young and knew that the world was ours and the night was a sanctuary that could not be desecrated by anything we said or did but it seems so meaningless now, with the light of years illuminating it seems anything but sacrosanct... read more
