"Sire, I am from the Other Country"                     -Ivan Vladimirovitch Chtcheglov


(This is getting taken out?) I wonder and I mean are we are we are we what we are 
Surrounded by? There was a little lift edging at the curb, when we slipped, between 
Lane-lines. A-falling-down, a kind of fracture as we stooped, checked & unscraped, 
Pulled back up to a standing posture. Feet on concrete, as it was Made to be. And 
Whirling in an auto-mobile mood.  An auto-automobile kind of mood. An auto-auto
-automobile Kind Of Mood. A mood to suit the times, kids, which you were born into. 
And whirling off we missed the exit, so we missed that chance to exist like that, but, 
Through CONSTANT DRIFTING (a practice) (you can read about it but you might 
Just try following directions for once- head outside, walk left until you feel compelled
To turn right, six hundred paces & left again, through whatever, stop, face North, left 
Walk backwards with eyes shut till you're dizzy, turn right walk forward, arms carving 
The air little windmills of your body, walk to the nearest tree in sight, sigh, the tree, the
Arms, your share of time, turn twice and mark your place) we found that this is where 
We'll start next time.