A LONG, LONELY SUNDAY WITHOUT ANY SPECIFIC VIEWS ON ANYTHING. SPEND ON THE COUCH, SLEEPING, HIDING. READING A BOOK I HATE. GREY.
They type me down fly over the ruling class becomes more and more airborne nowhere men and nowhere women. We are lonely in the cities lonesome in the days lonesome in the nights I miss her, miss more of night cool breeze no wind nowhere I come back to this letter no means no or ? we roll onto the carpet roll out on the floor roll roll over and around roll down the lane roll down the wall roll down my curtains my blinds my darkness roll over dark roll over back roll over roll. Roll and roll. Sorry so roll back sorry so rolling back our hysteric hysterie angels of angel skin angel air. Will she think of me tonight? Sleep sleep gone gone gone roll gone roll gone back to the coffee man grinder grinder go roll grinder man roll on down the hill so they came back to the bar again nowhere us nowhere me, her face her face this become a something groundbreaking face her face she is gone, as she walks away . Her face is what makes me. Her glance, her view. I become her as her eyes find me. Her glance. I am that what she looks at. She looks me. I understand, now I understand why I need her. Lonely Sunday learning. Where is she now? What is her eyes looking at now. Back bone black bone red bone where is she now? White table, dark tv-screen, sofa, and the view unto the water outside. The dark water mirroring the new luxury housing on the the other side. This is the new I like, this view is what calms me down. I could live in front of that view.