BURY THE HAIR
God there's so much to do every second of every day. Life in New York City is exciting, and it generally makes me happy. But it's also exhausting, sometimes. I'm sort of waiting for something really important to happen, maybe. I'm tempting fate, I think.
I wanna lay down next to you and not get up all day. I wanna wait until after dark for us to get up, out of bed, and go out. Ply each other with vodka and soda pop, candy bars. Junk food. Get a real sugar high, fizzy in the front of our heads and go out dancing. Like being a team of spies. I wanna be in on something but only if I can be in on it with you. I want you to know that there is no telling what you and I could get up to. I know it, and because I know it it's my job to convince you. You might not even take that much convincing. Maybe our job is to see if it's true, and how true. To what extent. Let's exhaust the idea, like internal combustion. Burn each other up and then give to the air what we can't breathe by then we'll be down the road you look so good with the wind in yr hair.
WHO BURIED YOU THERE?
COLA THINKS WE OUGHT TO TO DYE-A-LOG
(all pix + vid from Tracy + The Plastics Archive)