skyboxx '09

something about seeing the entire circumference of the world around you, that ring of boundaries and being above it, on top of plaster and plastic fenced-in, stepping on lights and hopping chain fences. why is it that doing things we aren't supposed to feels liberating? what kicks rationality in the face until we are screaming and cartwheeling, spraying up flecked beads of turf-dirt?

the prominent smell of frost tastes a little like some derisive, yet austere excitement

Think less but see it grow

Like a riot, like a riot,

I'm not easily offended

It's not hard to let it go

From a mess to the masses