virilio

since it's not spring i like the early morning finches singing but also the first to the barricades when the Great Somnambulists of the Glorious Nowtime are shown that the Spectacle is merely en empty ride talking merely about itself in vacuous blather created to enclose the poetry of existence on this living, breathing planet hanging in a vacuum of dark, empty space. under the concrete streets, the beach! all that is solid melts into thin air....and maybe....just maybe.....we can spend less time watching Dances with Morons and more with our tongues in each others mouths, ears, noses, between toes, and sexy parts. playing cards for stakes, smoke a little grass, sauteing garlic, drinking red table wine, in our underwear on the hard wood floor laughing until we can longer breathe.