Verian Thomas

My fingers find the keys, driven by a mind that is off somewhere on its own, remote control, cruise control, letters bundling together into words, panicking crowd mentality. The word ‘lemming’ forms then the image falls away and drowns at the bottom of a cliff. Round and round and round endlessly, hoping for a turn-off but stuck in the circle. Black circle, white noise. The key of C minor. Smile damn you. No time, a checklist longer than the time allotted. Prioritise and let the little things die. Moving a pile of paper from the left to the right. Jumping out of 'While' statements at the wrong place, de-bug, bugging, if, then, else. I have no idea what I am doing.

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Panic! Poets

Panic! Art Gallery