#ft. green

[sonarsystem]

I’m probably some sort of memory holder or something for some certain things that happened to us, and wishing I had him here is probably some sort of coping, but I’m too lazy to figure that out. Maybe I will eventually.

[billiejeannooneslover]

Billie Open

Her mind had blanked out after she’d been covered in whatever it was during her valedictory speech. Someone had taken her home, cleaned her up, and put her to bed, but she had no idea who. She was conscious of someone being there-but again, her mind couldn’t wrap her head around who.

Outside her bedroom door, Green stood like a sentry, glaring at anyone who wanted in. It had taken all of Billie’s extended friends to keep him from murdering those responsible for Billie’s predicament. He was still a bit sore about it, and still plotted murder in his head.

[billiejeannooneslover]

[txt]The little human’s leaking from the eyes

[txt]I think they call it crying?

[txt]And she’s making a lot of funny noises

[txt]I think she’s broken and I don’t know how to fix broken humans

[txt]You should come over and help

[kosmik-signals]

Digable Planets - Blowout Comb

(via popsike.com - Digable Planets - Blowout Comb '94 2xLP US ORG Guru Jeru The Damaja - auction details)

[ayenako]

"Works like this: the rents get cheaper the further you go away from Brooklyn. And the reality is that after the sand on Coney Island it's the mother fuckin' Atlantic Ocean. So, where you gunna go?"

[codyswansonphotos-blog]

The trick for me, with you, is the passing feeling of cycles, of lost connections re-connecting with their beginnings again like a snake eating its tail, though it has already been cut in half. Perhaps different, this time, was that I did not seek the vortex nor was I particularly excited to find it, but when I found myself standing on that sidewalk, recycling the same the same the same few words, pushing free art chic magazines onto strangers, I also found you. The women that day, and there must have been hundreds, were beautiful and would've surely melted my hand if I'd reached to touch one, and yet my eyes didn't follow them for more than a moment before swinging to the side, turning, to see you. You reading. You missing and, you, returned. And speaking, finally, over ice cream, and me a natural social speaker (though perhaps shocking, it's true), even I was stunned with how painlessly the few words floated in the chaos of color and distractions and I left, waiting for the bus, concerned that I may have just touched a live wire.