all the children in the forest had the clap in their hands as he saw thousands of fake-feet on the trucks on their way to the lines he wondered why the war hadn't begun yet. and thhe young boys in the barracks were waiting for their legs to be replaced with plastic sheeting although they hadn't been blown off yet. your usb in mine, memory as i touch it as i shake. as it is taught, when it licks my skin, the shivering existence, snow and breast land on my chest dread the tales that are unlocked, fear the thumb that glows red in the dark, far away mist comes off the air harrassing the cloggedwhispers that run about the streets shivering in doubt of the fear that is duly smouldered in private muscle and hired eye. shattering the pieces that don't fit, in protruding clouds of the gone-by bus, we are being transported into our places of work and back. all the misery, fat and bony shoulders clap against the wall that separates traffic from inhabited areas beaks in meat, if faces are pieces, all those that lead to me and that led to me, the orb-mounted dust that shatters and gathers again as dirt circles the floor and back again in my hands, so what would happen if i turned the sun in my hands. their flutes, bony sounds without teeth, rivers covered in dirt where bi rds float glued to the sky, pinned they've learnt the same tunes they are away in meadows orphan's homes reading material at myspace.com/athleticarms, detailed information on the cd-r series here and contact at either athleticarmsATgmailDOTcom or via telephone +358449273846