Let's let

Emily Haines, yes.

There is rhythm in your fair weather

and I am a cat

tracing migratory day dreams

Time streched eyelids

open

and see this out.

A

Permiquia

violtice oweid

Enfercam apim

parqemetre

Serious Questions About Nothing

Am I a Red King? Am I a Thing, or the Creator of All Things, or a Thing and The Creator of all things? What am I when I wake up? One can't be a chicken, and the egg, or the chicken and the egg... what are signs until signified? And what is signified with signifiers? Signifiers floating on red and green and purple smoke. whO aRe yoU? s-m-o-ke-- and words are whatever we like them to be. Adjectives are easy. Nouns are representations of some chicken's egg, some dreamers dream, and rows are rows and a bark is a bark. Some killers of words. Speak only when spoken to-- but then... nobody would say anything at all! Poesy claimeth nothing. And still I am sick. sick with no thing to cure it's reflection. Through the looking glass, and into a dream. I must be a Red King, because you are nothing without a me, so I must be both the creator, and a thing.

I have been thinking about it a lot lately, but today, after I hand full of shoulder shrugs and surgical steel prods and cotton pokes, today I am pretty sure that I am going to die... and I don't like that.

On the bright side, I can't tell what Paul Weller is saying, but I am pretty sure it's beautiful.