Red-tint sunglasses. A frame only holds on by the top, straddling the bridge of my nose with its two little silicon footsies. It's a passion, a passionate hue. Everything looks livelier and redder robin. But it's not the robin, it's the sparrows that befriend me. Amuse me with their hopping. Their hunt for crumbs with not but a beak. How... how else to say but bleak. They thrive I suppose, so the comparison can't be all bad.
EESPINOZA
36x
[best regards, Santa Cruz]
Whatever that means. From a sparrow kick and a narrow glance. Both an affinity for post-its. 'Tis a curious thing to have been written on such a small square of paper. The name of a boat? Sure. That's my final answer. That's the ticket. The point to saying it all in the first place. Because intellect breeds curiosity in all the loveliest looking places. Under the chairs of spry legs and fresh faces. See now, I've lost my train. Jimi's frying too hard, and that's why he was the best. Maybe not, but nobody could ever say it wasn't all the drugs. With definity. Not altogether incredible. Mais, something amazing. I'm going to start pulling out my hair now. Because I can. Mais, I probably won't though now will I. I don't know. It's fun to write down things you want, or want never to forget. I wonder why that is. Perhaps it's that I like remembering things, by either photo or words. Yeah, pictures are easy. Sometimes it just has to be words though. They can be more telling. And often more tattling, and almost always more long-taling. And altogether more lovely.
Thank you, Miami Holiday.
