ten thousand years of peace.

i am sick of swings that are designed not to swing. with backs. armrests. slippery seats. cagelike contraptions to ensure little people don't slide out but everyone else perishes of somethingoother reflex. ones where a perfectly acceptable seat is attached to heavy five meter long chains.

and yet there i was (&feeling slightly uneasy because it was one of those moments when the real reality approaches to this romanticised version of itself where i wear hats and scarves and am endearingly quirky) listening to tju-tju (or, as some people [unless stats lie, more cycling-loving than you] may call it, txu-txu), watching the planes land, and if i didn't feel like i'm the most coordinated person to ever walk the earth like i do on more proficiently executed swings, well. it could be worse. i might have written a song about them.

there's this place where, let's say there is much circumambulation. it looks like the frickin' milky way. so warm and wide and floodlit and nice i can't handle it. (ask your own rhetorical question here.)