Timing. 1994.

Timing.

Filmy collections. Flicker-by, pacing.

Frame by frame.

The tuning is buzzing, we’re not flying straight.

We must vary direction before it’s too late.

If I learnt this from scholars or teachers or fools,

I can still only say it rings true, it rings true.

Blinds roll-up and criticism wears its warty smile.

Bubbling up and under and shadows of sparrows remind me of now.

I am turning the dial, I’m turning the dial,

Attempting to catch a new station.

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