moments of inadequate, steak and wine and blood and booze and the crunchy squeezy rich beautiful sound of teeth grinding on repetitions and uncertainties. sometimes you wait under darker skies, so many people are happening but you don't know where you are, so you bury your face in cats and dance a little. saturday four am mornings, the fear of using all these strange devices and the realisation that beds are sacred and you should protect the jazz and yourself, especially yourself

i found some old photos