the cold sun throwing her soft light on the buildings and feeding the life of pre-christmas stressed out crowds, like a smile too silent to be heard, summer is a long time ago, too far away already to be me

we're yet to bleed all the time and energy














til the fire blazing light shines again within our eyes

and then you see these photos and you're like, how can it be that this exists out there somewhere and i don't even know of it and have no connection to anything like it and then you see these other photos and you're like, this doesn't feel real, there's feelings embedded in there that i don't understand, but none of that is true, it's just that you're too old to appreciate potential, too young to take pride in your past, too normal to be happy, so all you do is stare at maps and maps and roads and more maps to let your head spin, but really, where are you going

na na na na na na na na naa...

what feels like decades later, every day is a new age, the flashbacks are gone, and the blues with them; what remains is the cheap union jack wrapped around my bed that keeps falling into its own folds, what remains is a sticky face, like my eyes and mouth and perception and thoughts and mind all melted together into a mask of tiredness and boredom and i am becoming it. i get dashes of colour from faces i love but really mostly it is all grey as the sky, grey as my shirts, red as the bricks that surround me in tiny alleyways that my mind finds itself in. lots of life around, i feel the jazz in the red rooms and the peace on wooden tables and there is beauty around but i'm not quite here yet.

new york city, you are still on my mind, more beauty in these pictures than there probably ever was ever but love