hungover. it’s awful, the sound of trains collapsing back behind of here; outside there are distant birds circling in front of 7 miles of heavy clouds falling down, & from where you’re lying one of those clouds looks like a hanged man leading a blind, indifferent horse… THIS IS MILE END MY FRIEND, the hollowed out ruins here & a train runs straight thru them… we made a record here in mile End at the mighty Mxx HOTEL2TANGO, where lonesome trains ramble thru the backyard while the wind plays in the trees where nervous birds hide from a dog named wand, a kat named lu. We’ve been plowing our little field up here for a couple of years now, but the yard is still filled with rock&dust & & sick trees… so we bide our time, waiting for a purer kick to bloom… & the future is still bleak, uncertain and beautiful… &the van is gassed but the pistons are cracked, and. When we close our eyes all we can see is: open road, telephone poles, a sun that is always setting, and a tangled up melody falling down slowly.