If you hear yourself scream in a dream it is said to mean something unbreakable is happening. That's what it means. Fat penned graffiti on the yuppie's gathering bricks. Which one is me. Which one is listening. Which one is the scribe who writes through espionage to attention, to go on undetected. Like, yeah, what.?, I said it. To keep a part of the record kept, and kite weather. I tend to like the acoustics of flying more than the scream that flung me into it. But it was worth it. I watched the means replenish. Hipsters wearing tender jeans. Rappers wearing tender jeans. Executives. It's not the tenderness of trust, it's the tenderness of fear. Otherness blue. It frightens me. It trusts me. To be what's proper of otherness. And it's kinda infantilizing. The scream. The them. The pen. The denim. The tendering. Othering. No the other one. And whichever one woke me up to unbroken numbers, up to the once. To the 1 again.
