hearing burial (untrue 2007, hyperdub)

the gloom looming everywhere, a giant gray ghost drooping over things just to blow its perfume, the arms of the bamboo wither inveterate and the ground is cold. sunday says this things. wondering what is the attraction of modern-consumer melancholy. buganvilias hanging haphazard from the lack-luster walls still enter my body, as the gleam nuance remains of the dusky overture of day. synthetizers instead of cellos, chalking with atmos loitering in trashed streets wrapping the sky with a velcro silver gauze. gasp and tomorrow work. waiting for something better and almost (but never quite) pushing through the chemical limit of forcing fire to turn inside out -my spirit in the street.