Eric: When I think straight the earth quakes, the tectonic plates of my skull’s shifting continental drift. I run on tracks like a fox with a rolled-up message around my neck. Maybe I’m the bottle, bobbing up and down searching for shore in a sea of my own sweat, and if I uncork to let the scroll out it might get wet. But I’ll take that chance even if you can’t read the last and most important ink-blotted stanza which hands you the meaning of life on a series of tarnished platters, exhibiting the lazy chaos of hazy patterns. Clutching the séance, but dropping that inner sanctum. It seems a bit too perfect, much too easy to work, but to us it only occurs when we find we’re still searching. I leave the room without time to return predicting memories with no patience. The doctor’s stethoscopic headphones cracking the code of my heart’s safe combination—as it opens, notice it’s empty, so there’s plenty of space to either waste of fit this, but a diary is only a place to get writing done, not finished… Fall down childhood staircases through anamnesis. This origami master unfolds, ironing creases, coping with acid flashbacks—too sentimental. I hope this food for thought is edible, increase positive space so the air between us is legible—and, though the handwriting on the walls we erect might be neat, we keep it discreet that we’re illiterate by copying the sloppy penmanship of the next generation’s yesterkids who don’t know what we’re dying of so factor in another F, another failed exam cuz we’re just dying off…

Nate: As I fall asleep whispering threats to the heavens, I’m an intrepid intercepting irreverent severance of reverends. A common side effect of genocidal sets that lie-detect your lack of intellect and split up embarrassment profits. About to pop it, a balloon is the atmosphere with fear, the absent-minded child’s wish’ll never stop it. Idiot savant’s indifferent wants connect the dots of sunspots in hope of a catastrophic response. But the conclusions and infusion of destiny and losing every resource a human being has ever dreamt of using, disapproving of parody’s paradox—take off my shoes and my socks so I can moonwalk on lava rocks. Reconnaissance of common sense and common threads, the almond sheds a shade of blue from eyes on novel trends. Dividends divide in the end—Alice in Blunderland wondered who discovered out of sights on three-day weekends. Through fabric seeping while sleeping your wound’s a pager beeping, secrets are keeping hostages despite logistic reason. Thoughts so hectic, almost apoplectic, infect by defect, intellects intercepted. Inspections of distance between each resistance, proves wrong to life circus, what exists once you blink twice? Think of me as a penchant for tension, mix and match, relax—allows the facts’ intentions. Impact disasters faster with grandeur which bastards will think of lies faster than last word. What’s the password, pastor? I’m the flash flood brain-smash telecaster. Misinterpret equations mastered, I’m the one so-called lighter of brightest lanterns…