Sophisticated Daydream

I love questions too, and we have some of the same obsessions. A zen tempo in decadent places. The unanswered ones that pace the cursor looking for hunters/who do you love in a sunny union of immense parallels, when miracles and disasters are one thing together, mellow explosions of habit to destabilize the black myth, and all we can say is, oh well. We know our mothers would get along too well, like enemies. It would be enough to make us feel like orphans, eventually