we_knew_it_was_not_real this should be rillian i hold a seed in my hand like a photograph. pretty pictures in a magazine. everyone is so make-believe. nothing is going to last. who will plant them? i will. and when they grow they will change the world because i will have altered them to my rendition of this transitory time. we are young, today. tomorrow a day older. next year, a year added. but, never do we stop drinking from the fountain of youth. it drips from our lips and down our beard until it forms a puddle at our feet. 031231 what's it to you? who go blather from