it's nature's way of receiving you. it's nature's way of retrieving you. it's nature's way of telling you, something's wrong. that was the song from yesterday but it's still in my head. i was thinking of writing all the moments of memory that were moments at the time, pictures that exist apart from the day, when the days go by they stay. like aubergines in moonlight on the rim of a collapsed volcano cone, and hissing pumice in a sunken boat, and a journalist from ireland who danced naked on the bar last night, staring red. well everything, even the fragments want to become a story. who are we? what is our story?