September 21, 2021 by petrujviljoen
Ad hoc job from Twitter. With my painter’s stick I made faces all through the quarter filled glasses of wine in the house everywhere.
Up-at-night conundrums delivered some prosaic dreams dotted with bits of something one can ravel at watching billowing curtains believing magical children appearing out of nowhere wearing their favourite blue jeans, chewing on their hair and the weight hasn’t lifted yet.
The glass of water right there unable to reach out but for an effort of will for once and forced back to the kitchen’s dishes the cat was hungry. – the heat, the stove left on but the lights went off in the weather of the moment so it saved units. I don’t know the red-dressed woman against the scarlet background, no, no water, no, the ceiling doesn’t have an attic but the cat and mouse games are still audible as is the soft gnawings of the moles beneath the floor as above dear heart you know Sugarman in Detroit’s story is still alive and beyond his own life in the pools of light cast by his ancestors. It changed a few people’s living lies.
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