Claustrophobic in tiny tin cans hurtling towards nothing through naked Kansas, like flies on an empty place. When the colors burst above reaching structures and showered us in light we got in on camera. And made all the miles between home and here automatically disappear. The fireflies fight for a role in our film about all us insects buzzing through anthills.
The Chandelier drips water from the bathroom above, murky tile, go back to sleep. We go town to town dressed in disguise. No one really knows us. We are far from home forgetting what our own beds feel like. I call the couch.
Those bleak unclear back alley's of our culture get us nowhere. It's time we just simply jangle on. Farm land, city life, at least half of it is nothing, can someone tell me which half is which, oh never mind. I found solace in the early morning midwest. But its time to leave so get back in the car.