the brain habitation of place .
Clutter of our foraged thoughts, before the computer.
When was before the computer?
Have we always been an idle fancy of its' existence from the dawn of time.
When I visit my brain here and there,
the 'uglyness' that persists is a recognisant that 'it' still exists..,
the vile that is man-made, the factoried present,
and the upset reminds the illusion of belief.... 'that I can wish it all away.'
So when the back of the house is more beautiful than the front what does it mean?
Where does your garbage lie?