top of page


The world has this thing about continuing And the things piling continue as well Things. They have a way of truly destroying a continuum it’s like we’re all standing in a crowded living room and the exit keeps getting blocked—a fire hazard we are all on fire the newspapers are to the ceiling and if I take one out, we’ll all be buried it isn’t worth it, but we’re all too far gone the spinning needs to stop, but it’s too late

bottom of page