no longer chasing wisdom. it's just the seepage from what exists now, before is forgotten and will be mourned, mocked or moved along, most however almost forgotten, the future is as abstract as the microroute of an ant on the tiles of boulevard magenta, we all just try, we can die, like the ant can be stamped upon by a big fat white corporate guy "leading" a vacuous industry or institution, or be accidentally evaded by the gal in the high paule ka heels, so we too, are subject to accident and incident, timely, but, we're game, come get us if you can, from the guts out this satanic virus will be halted, diminished, paused, disturbed, from the outside unwanted folks and messages and influences will be "barred," banned, scolded, neutralised, lasered, if necessary botoxed and overfilled with such fillers to be dwelling with disnial donald minnie daisy goofey lips ears vajinas penisses tails hides fur and paws, to walk the streets till they're evaporated.  wisdom like future like past is for daisies.  however we're a bunch of daisies this wisdom future and past can be thrown in the dustbin.  what matters is now.  what do you want.  who are you.  what is your name.  what would you like to accomplish.  how is your voice.

i hope you stay with us, to do

with us what you are "destined," by yourself, to do with us.  walking between the "icefloes," no, rather on them, otherwise we're getting cold feet.  on those icefloes which are islands of respite and compassion in the rivers of this disease. we're walking, we're talking, scolding, feeling, loving, arting, expressing, being elegant, like boys like girls like gays like aliens like subterranean outsiders, like skaters, like people with loads of experience for whom i have great admiration and love.