killing songs. Most written last year will be killed. They served their purpose, to get me into writing again, and have now officially been coined as utter shite, thus marked for death row. I may, as a last dash, transcribe them into some Dreampop (ha! so not capable of that right now) so as to extend their existence somewhat. Only with lyrics blurred under a bed of milky-strawberry-Quick noise. Can I do that? ...e-bow
A few killer-recently-released-songs. They've taken me away and I can't get back down. Thanks for that Thom.
🅟 Met with Petr on Sunday. He told me about a book "The Future of Nostalgia"
🅑 Bruce wants me to draw a comic.