captured tracks. brooklyn. when was the last time you were in the womb? Was it when you had dropped three tabs of acid in your hand lotion and masturbated yourself till you were sick and bleeding all over the gingham picnic blanket? Was it when you listened to track three of Mr. Alex Calder's most idyllic, avuncular, body of work yet (Location / 3:43)? Are you currently penetrating a vagina, deeply?
Like this?
i sat immobile for thirty six hours, letting the xxxxxxxx and the xxxx wash over me, the resounding sounding sound of the universe crawl over me. my spine was afire suddenly, and as i stood up at the end of it, i knew // i walked for twelve kilometres, it didnt take me long to get to the mouth of the park. a trail of racoons led me deep, past the lagoon, led me far, under the moon. my head was quaking peace and soot, the sleeves of my shirt were stiff with frost by the time we arrived. the fire, symbols lucid, hadn't survived. i clasped hands with every slivery blade of grass and crawled up the lawn. 
