9/13/11

9/13/11

™¡å These sterile creatures cracked around the edges, curling and crackling as they curled, something coming up the side of the wall in a universe of completely white structures that are somehow discernible from each other, against a backdrop of stars. Wet painted wood in the beating sun, dad cooks brisket and we all eat it. Make more for the kids so that they can eat it and turn out like us. Each generation desires more and less.