carryon flux i dreamed a dream of barrington hall. placed lightly on a grassy field heavily sedated mist. abused and abandoned, but still the center of a mythology and a controversy. i came up to a clearing, there were trees, old trees, bay and oak. they lived above like old men on their rocking chairs, talking about the times they'd seen. the boys below played rugby, friendly, roughly. i was here on other business, and only watched them for a short while. their was dew in the grass, sticking to the tips of my boots. the building wasn't a building anymore, it was a complex. i met an old friend outside, and we talked about the meaning of white. he went off to see his girl, who snuck out from behind a bush and invited me to run away with her. i climbed up to the second terrace of the building, a ziggurat of concrete and bad time. i hid here behind a white pillar, and waved my old friend past. we scampered around back, and underneath, where we could see the inner workings of the ancient words. i slept beneath. beneath, a rocky garden, all iron grates and concrete columns. i could look out to the world, but i couldn't touch it, and it couldn't touch me. 031228 what's it to you? who go blather from