# now playing in the lab background nothing but flowers by the talking heads via robert what hardcore freelance amateur post-modem resident internets theorist and internets lifestyle prophet digital poetic fragments for humalien being abc zero degree milky way shout in which one awakes in frozen mornings hating radio blare but still loving you with each vibrating atom of this lonely soul only slightly less than we used to in which one staggers to the kitchen to switch on the heat dreading the grey day ahead but looking so much to moment you step through the door again to give much needed hugs in which one cannot thank you enough for the years putting up with our 'big science' although we often argue and fuss over nothing the glowing vines of our eternal bond delicate leaves of sweetest forever green wrap us in deep organic mystery life still untold a grubby time faded indie band tshirt words are difficult but not love's cosmic flow or at least it does when we release our taps cry out into lonely beautiful polyverses in which that magnificent juicy arts manifests slightly bigger each greying satellite year beauty remains true a clear ringing iron bell if only one could present this troubled alien world on a dented golden platter for chances of fleeting sensual kisses another frozen headlight stare into wild blue eyes displayed so proudly permanent shining threats to an apparently universal male intelligence in which one unlocks this poor doltish mind an art of life on this unhappy backwater island of constantly compromised dreams and private illusion shot through with minor minute to minute regrets over what was said or not - if the messages even got through if what one did was right if such strained communication was even necessary yet our art of love seem carefully comprised of mutual automatic understanding and shared quality artisan italian bread from the local collective smeared with full flat cheese we chew in intense privacy a need to slice through pointless defenses naked under staring scientific suns looking out together at desolate everyday uk blandscapes architectures of urban alienation and empty conceptual abandonment we play together united against arbitrary aches directly caused by constant backwater island drizzle icy morning wind in the face on the way to work smog and slog for you alone saved us our beautiful sweet faced darling // republic of bob