the pictures by the bed are by artists, framed cheaply, in them, on the wall.

in a scene focused upon movement, the still man produces a revolution through lethargy. i am resisting, actively with passivity, and reacting against all of you. this is a protest against ambition manifesting itself not through creation, but fufilment of what i am supposed to be, my assimilation of affect. imagine a symphony played out in a vacuum, the curtains peeling back like the folds of a skirt to reveal no audience hearing nothing.

read words on futurism, searched for the best file-sharing platform, examined the history of free jazz improvisation, rested upon glossy leaflet that talks about constellation records. no avoiding the threat of influence, not threat as such, but shadow.

people outside, under glorious glorious glorious sunny skies. i will stay in again.


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