tubeway army pencil sharpener

window 4
window 4 by Tim Caynes

trolling under the cavities of entropy was our saturday afternoon pastime. 3 hours cradling nescafe in fingerless gloves and lumberjack shirts you are to me the antithesis of life and death and the magic of my own experiences that you can not possibly fathom. surrounded by each other we were passing though arrogance by not saying anything to anybody and our light was not so much hidden but willfully pointing inward if you can’t work me out you need to take a look at my shoes they came from london you know you see right anyway whatever. after that we’d go up to jarrolds and get our 2 for the price of one, enigmatic to fault under the rouched ceilings flicking scones across the table when ladies our mum’s age weren’t looking. we never got thrown out. still polite.

don’t look at me. I’m not what you think I am. in 25 years I’ll be installing photo printer drivers but I don’t know that yet. all I have is everything you’ll never have. I’m walking home alone through graffiti tunnel but is that now or then. the same floorboard creaks in the same place, but now it’s me not waking them up which it was but the other way around except I’d crashed the mini and thought I should probably tell them if they do the same I’ll probably do the same. I won’t be awake, but I’ll be alive which they won’t be. denied.

I misspelled an email alias today. is that how you spell misspelled? that looks wrong. I’ve got buckle boots. I’m playing bomb jack. never made it.


Make somebody else read this