# private scene a the only place us and our true sweet love can now sax it up is at their house our own dear mother has two part time factory jobs and does shift work while dad's a lorry driving lump who comes home at different times during the week but at night when their folks are upstairs cutting logs with their snoring we can be found striding three miles to their house down by water and finally engaging with their offspring in front from behind in the spare room our dear love requests we lick them afterward our own glacial warmth still slowly oozing while we enjoy sweet hot techno romance in the silent dusty suburban darkness we can hear ancient sea rolling in and lonely sound of the bell on the buoy in the harbor sliding in and out while they move over covering and enclosing waiting until the next existential tide comes around to relieve us of our suburban boredom and ceaseless yearning for infinite organic mystery darkness in an empty room type of quiet in this house unique to endland yeasty lust fragrances combined with the time dust of a million suburban centuries old copies of the holotv times and cigarette ash under the sofa sudden senses of deep collective experience and unmoved opinions subtle hints of alienation and intense negative emotional outbursts bills to be paid white bread toast crumbs and fading cancer health private scenes from the twilight interior world of semi detached suburban non space b their parents finally go on holiday while we stay in bed for a week to play hard like like mutant rabbits watch bad holotv scoff double chocolate ice cream and flavored crisps perchance to dream we wake up each bleary morning to wash beneath ourselves and when back in bed are once more drained of essential energy now that's seriously scientific a desperate existential suburban soundtrack now available at all good stores in the milky white scientific heck of one's own designer making cyberpunk forbidden section b nightscapes various we're parked outside their old volk's house in our mom's lousy beep beep mobile both staring out at the dark waves and listening to the radio at low volume we start to kiss and soon get hot yet find it impossible to enjoy intense happy space ape interfacing anywhere inside this lousy auto even with the seats down so on to sensual option two mutual synchronized love beats we're in the driver's seat and thankfully all the windows are steamed up this is a great area for morally outraged nets curtain rufflers so swanson has to be careful when classic shootmy dot wads splatter up hard against the windscreen we laugh while they pull their jeans back up and kiss us goodbye before going back indoors they wink at us oh how we used to love such naive cool pixie cut goth ways there's not a single tissue in the car so we have to use the inside lining of our cheap imitation leather jacket to clean off all the heavy science as the empty suburban days go by the inside of our jacket gets real crusty clown pulling out of their drive we turn the radio up nothing on at this hour except a fantastical tron on dmt lasors like interview with a random fellow researcher who states: the first time we saw a zx spectrum we thought the break / space key was a trippy device to another dimension what a credible quote dear researcher we want to travel there immediately ok we guess you have to be here so why not go though in holographic dimensional senses you never really weren't but all and every attempt at forward motion sets in motion the tacky rubber conveyor belt of endlandian anti life in every and any direction to the one wanted or needed to this day swanson still painfully basks in the negative glow of their radiant absence // [[republic of bob contents | imaginary pastime republic of bob]]