…in all our circumvention, will we always find these shores? where ariadne was abandoned, the full breasted one, who beared her chest as memories enter like nests? for her, music will always be the knowledge of that which relates to love in harmony and system - but i guess she has never known modelled systems of playlists that preempt your desires. 

so the dog days follow the dog nights and i was forever planning another departure. each bound cable strands, arching upwards, veering with light, with the flight of strings. it is the blessing of the unstrung - wavering streams as though a god were issue of the strings. one of these days surely i will fall to the bottom of the earth, along with all the other unstrung people, who see no love as monolith but a frosted cape that must be shook. is there a destiny in that? i hardly know. 

what i know is that - late at night, the telephone wires whisper. the drunks will stammer. the moon will rise out there seemingly moveless and seven oceans are there to answer our dreams. even if it is oblique. even if it is against our wishes. and upward our sleep will veer towards the helm of dog stars and always - the traveller carry no script.