We met in a torn design aka unstable. Pointilized elevators, for instance. Micro repair drones no one talks to about anyone. We can subtitle the rip a deformed hemisphere over, a seething blueprint. — the uncomfortable feel of any D.J.’s hand burst from a toy and symbol. Defensive narcissism. Overall.. it’s nothing’s personal.

What’s semiology? unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present new phenomena —  what the old world could say
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony of former days purring yet put aside. (One dissipates the other.)