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| I do more abstract scribbles at night. |
Seen the greying hairs of my parents.
Time is finite, going to do what to do what you've got.
Physical laws that move on despite our regimes, are you old bingo cards being handed out on social media.
New generations, old generations. Intermingling.
All of it noise, down into the walks of the boat trail, down to the bricks, down to the history. All living to a thing that we call art, or literary journalism.
Grey hairs into the grey television fuzz of past prime time of the 1990s.
Grey into the fzzzzzz.