And snow. And the flow. It's four in the morning. Wake me up. Talk to me. Internal war. Of nobody-training. I want to say. Don't go away. But I can't seem to get the words. Out of my head. Isolation is a survival technique. You take what you want. Then put it back into your body. And when you see someone. Who looks like you. Every time you see him. You try to imagine. What he would be. If he were taller. Or if he were more beautiful. Can't imagine. Now that I've said it. Do you want to go. Someplace else. A few minutes ago. I was in a museum. Looking at some works of art. Which were all framed. With frames made out of styrofoam. So that those artists could sell them. At wholesale prices. Back then. The framers clearly intended. That these framers die after they’re made. It’s called internal-liberty. What are they saving for. Don’t count on it. Nothing anymore