i have not yet figured out where i live. in my past? possibly. in my reveries? frequently. in my environment? hardly. i actually do not live. life just lives itself, and i happen to overlap with it. sometimes it is blood that runs through my veins, sometimes lemonade.
gutters, neon lights, reflections on soaked asphalt. cranberry juice from tesco express. london scattered in my head.
the art of here and now escapes me. always has. there might have been moments when i breathed time. now i breathe ash.
october smells of london. of metallic moaning of the tube and of dead daffodils in green park. my butterfly net is packed in the bag. time to chase time.