If these walls could speak they wouldn't shut the fuck up.
Did Sage Francis say that? I've been quoting Sage Francis a lot this weekend. He is, after all, a clever man. Life is just a lie with an "F" in it, and death is definite. Ho ho ho.
If these walls could speak they wouldn't shut the fuck up because since they were here, all they've done is observe. Had paint applied to. Wetted. Dried. Be leant upon. Be lifed upon.
On a few occasions, people have been in this flat, and they have taken photographs, many photographs, in quick sucession. Every click a moment in the circle, a single moment, stopped, frozen, dead in image for posterity. It is so small, this flat, and so much has been in it.
We were in it, and we were full, we were in it, and we were empty, we were in it, and we fought, we were in it, and we slept. Yesterday, in a moment, we were on the sofa, and today, in a moment, there are nothing but stains on that sofa, stains and dust. But the moment is still happening, forever, and the only difference is our perception of that which we call time. Yesterday and today and tomorrow and two weeks Monday and thirty two weeks that Thursday are exactly the same thing.
Orwell wrote that the future is "a boot stamping a human face forever". But so it was in the moment of his thought, and so it was when the first man stomped the first face. The future is a mouth, on a human mouth, forever, also. Up against a wall. Bop bop bop.
I have posted a new song on my MySpace page. I'll leave it there for a week.
Be seeing you.