damn. the energy in this is intense. it makes me feel things that I don’t want to feel. like, maybe there’s still some dark fog I left in the back of that drawer I’ve been cleaning out for decades. I’m picturing a hallway. my hand forever reaching, deeper and deeper, it stretches, there’s stuff everywhere, not just pen caps and rubber bands or folded notes and scratched out poems, there’s pictures on the wall, there’s memories everywhere, I can see them in the distance, at first, just colors, then oozing colors, like picture frames barfing, dancing, singing, searching with my desperate digits, combing, spider man crawling slow and fuck man, this album is amazing, and fuck, man, where are you tyler? please come home.
hold your memories close
we are not the
may it cast it’s hidden secrecy in waves across our invisible shadows like deja vu like humidity and song like a fishing line and a guitar in a canoe on a lake at night alone a sea of stars glistening in the absence of memory –