for me it's still the memory of travelling on the no. 86 bus to school, really loving robert plant's song darkness, darkness and morning dew reading voltaire - both songs from the album dreamland - a compensation for the last album by led zeppelin having exhausted their togetherness of stating something, i don't know why i sided with collecting the oeuvre of led zeppelin and not black sabbath - but still that bus journey that took about an hour and two buses - across cold crisp green belt, just sitting there listening to music and reading a book, while the same of rosa parks' effort sat in the back (as usual) jabbering like parrots and not stoic enough to place all our supposed origins - rosa parks, your effort became futile - your kindred still preferred the back of the bus, where they could get rowdy with girls who'd not **** me, thanks, i can't be bothered to live a white girl, i'll stick to the art, now i couldn't walk down a high street eyeing shops' content holding her hand without being too irritated and wishing to run into a forest and swim in fallen autumnal leaves smelling the sweetness of death where death sweet, the only sweetness of death is among autumnal leaves fallen, this strange Aphrodite, this strange autumnal Aphrodite sea, this sea of leaves, and i have, fallen into it and swam in it in the brisk cool of night when this sea is most porous to secrete the perfume a dead body of a man or fox could never do; O the sweet scented dead sea of the autumnal Aphrodite balding and shedding leaves, to litter the forest floor, and me slain in it nonetheless still living - parisian perfumeries can hide and squalor in shame compared to the odour of the autumnal Aphrodite sea of dead leaves beneath the craniums of alveoli sketches of the naked trees.