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Opaquely a day becomes another, time destroys all. There is no substitute for being, intending to create is no substitute for creation. One step at a time, no matter where the compass lands we are directed toward each other, magnetised, viscerally conjoined like separate poles of the same sphere.

When once we met through the fuzzy haze of a speaker, bathed in a red light whilst the pavement on Amersham road pounded, until years later together again amongst the dewy summer drops of the cumulonimbus falling heavily on the shoulder like a good luck charm and biblical bird droppings staining the British Boat Building Association sweatshirt with the whale motif a suitable authentic seafaring touch if indeed it was spawned by a seagull or not. lotto winning numbers Who cares – to a degree me. Crow’s feet of time stretch out like outsourcing manufacturing as though geographical sine waves shifting lines to protest is to serve : to serve is to prosper underfoot. Holding out for times Factory to produce the ‘Try a little sunshine’ pill which can be openly consumed on the night shift whilst operating the respectfully opinionated listener confabulator machine serial number one something or other.