roads being impassable for most of the year, bang-up barbecues by the pool, directio voluntatis a recurring theme for army families, camouflage kids, swimmers, pitter-patter of armament industries: tech-glock-fuck up, amplitude of musters: coterie 12. burntout repetitions, flickering signspace — necro-grade shooting end-stops like domesticity hollowed — getting a sock in the eye for a wash-up soaping off the longest seasonal run in history
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spiked bets, lacklustre in remonstration’s hand-held dish a bell-shaped resonance tight as his master’s run of luck, miss El Dorado ‘78 pinned out coquillage burning the tax file at both ends crossing barefoot, celsius overload — panes of super-hardened glass interrogating, giving us the flick, saying you’ve a responsibility to close up shop, to quit.