Out width the nominal charges of circumstance, our heroes venture ever onward into the Great Land of No, exploring as a matter of definition, as participation occurs through observation, we are the Schrodinger’s cat of groups. No-one really knows whats going on. Not even the cat.

But withstanding the phenomenological assertions risen through interacting with the creative resonances of absurdia, we find gluten free humus and various things that burn. And from these flames and health sensitive dips we are forging a great and mighty Thing. A Thing so fully possible that suddenly even the contours of my skin are tingling with excitement….
It ain’t easy being a Fool.

But we are making progress. We squat by the edge of the land, feet in water, scooping up stones and sipping them, the walls of reason are crumbling, the empire of logic is flailing, waving surrender flags BUT WE SHOW NO MERCY.

We will not stop until we inhale the stink of freedom, taste the vulnerability of our preconceived notions of up and down, now there is only the absolute potential that allows the stone to become an eagle, the stick to become a song, the very fabric of our clothes becoming the summer stories of yearning and aching for the sun, for the drums, for the sweat of our ancestors to wash away our worries as we dance and leap, into each other, and out again. Heart first.
Belonging is the longing to be, and we’re like totally over 7ft now.
(we be long.)

We love you and miss you and can’t wait to kiss you/suck chocolate off your forehead. Whatever’s easiest for you.

No Love x x x