And it just takes and takes away from each bit that you’ve built upon. Rocketing you, becoming a part of that piece inside none of us; lacking fervent exotic inertia. Nine now, nine. Molding yourself and image into spanning as much time known to known, to you. Resistance is the ocean and you join it miles away. Bubbled in thought. Bubbling your blood. Bend. Bend with it now. Swim in unperceived colors. Let your hair grow and fall and lose weight and age, color, lightness, senses, a dog barking, etc. Four? Fine, four. Warp with what’s reeling in the reel mind, your mind. *oops shit break* Yeah, yeah, and yeah, you’re just floating —er wading in the water of, well wait, the ocean and, like resistance, or um, not resistance. Don’t resist. Fuck, I lost it! But you can easily find Cray’s Music For Lysergic Acid Diethylamide tape on Discriminate Music meow to make up your own mind and shit. Rocket Machine Tapes sold out of ‘em!