No stream in sight - LGW
No stream in sight. Lili Ward The bushes in the dirt are spiralling into landlocked whirlpools. In hunger and heat you would believe in god, in the desert you would have to, when there is nothing for miles but a single burning bush and a tessellating reflective horizon, there is god. Walking a single straight line along the railway through two border towns. Hiding produce from the authorities under blankets and knapsacks, illegal unlawful apples, ginger and carrots. The desert highway wave; There are many ways to participate, a simple lift of the pointer finger, the thumb pointing up straight to heaven, all fingers dance in succession along the leather sewn seam of the steering wheel. No gesture more or less respected than the last. Drinking caffeinated caramel beverages while listening to 432H insomnia relief frequency is the same as trying to conjure a sign from god. The counteractivity of manifesting a synchronicity, no refrain no gain. Playback for musicians is the death...
