Cats and Angels.

Cats and Angels

This book makes me drink. I drink. I am a bottle. Bottling it. I bottled it. Do you know. Its a long time. Drink a long time. Gone. I fold. The cards. Every corner. Put them in your pack. The wolf pack. The stern. Lamb ships can’t bleat. Not today. The bottle is king. The box. Goggle. Tells it so. Blood fire and brimstone. In my glasses. Square eyes.

I always wanted glasses. From an early age. Sat in front of the telly. I wanted to have square eyes. Especially when they asked,
“What do you want to be, when you grow up?”
A signpost.

Teacher’s teeth, they’re all teeth you know. Blowing lips. Sugar words blown upon us. A school of fish. Caught between two tides, pulling faces in a wind of change it’s ok to eat fish, fish are our friends, Disney or Cobain, Disney or Cobain.

Your it.

If your still it when you die does that mean you get a dogs life?

Kurdt glasses an a far out bit of hawk. Ear the glove of the hawk. All the other boys chose the eagle. I chose the spotted leather strap of the speckley barn owl. Then buried my photo in its frame in a hole i dug out of the ground behind the green shed at the back of the garden.

What’s your favourite animal? You cannibal. Stinking in the rum. Fools cap puff balls. Capital gain bowling boules. A wasp a wasp, petanque have a crumb, my friend. Rolling sticky in the mud like a dog. I want to scrabble around and cover myself from tip to toe in foxes muck. I’m a dog, a dog, a big fat dog.

“Cor your not shy are you?”
Old geezer ticker tackle out singing sea shanties whilst taking a leak by a tree. Alright mate moon shouting, to the beams, how de doos, better festival, eastern haze, Scottish mushrooms woof woof, waggle Wahoo Wahoo.
Tilt back. Popping pupil orbs. Take it all in. The skies. The night the stars. Yo ho ho. The bottle is king.

The moths don’t like the early morning sun
They only come out when the work is done
Know the moths don’t like the early morning sun
They’ll only come out when the work is done.
They drip drip drip
Rip away the rain
when Sheffield’s floods came
Aye she washed away
Wish i was a wish wish a wash a way
Drip rip rip to
Dry away the rain
Like the moths don’t like the early morning sun
Drip rip rip until
The work gets done

Let’s begin this story with an incense stick. In the room that was his tomb. Pirate den of sticky glue. Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt them. Funny.
How many liars are in the local, how many fakers on the green rubbing players legs the wrong way, static balloons. Playing since before they could crawl. A lie runs three times round the world, tying labels on all the packages, whilst the truth stais in bed waiting for polee to put the kettle on.

Monkeys at the factory jumble up the jambalah, pink rice, yellow elephants, the world of stuff. Wrong label one gum, the plaque, your breath, fall over. Every single one. A bubble of snot out the nostril that can breathe. Spurge. You and me. We’ve been given the wrong packages thanks to the labels tied on by jumble monkeys so prettilee fancee free with brown string.

At the factory. Hacienda.
The ovens on but there’s nothing inside. Except the glowing white. Lies. Porky pies. Shuffle them filed ravel them in mystery ravel them in dazzle. Just a dib of dabble dibble daz will do you.

First I remember what you will never see. Hear the seagulls. Flapping my skin of cock on skin. Pieces of triangle. For the pie. Is the game a lie an apple from the market. Too shy to buy.
The ovens not empty. More than light. Baking bread. Smells. The nostril holes. Crumbling dust holes in the ceiling. In the day the palace is a bright as the great hall beneath the pillow, at night electricity spreads its blanket.

Fur. Wool. Fibre. I am soft bear. Awaken in my dreams. The mud carpet. Indian peacock wall paper. Brown settee. Small box. This is the way out of T.V. Tribe. Once a week. Tune in. The show excitement. The time. Live your life. Years until the end. Stretching elastic. The cowboy. Needle in the rabbit. The body ship. Needling the skin, hooks latched onto eyes. The girl. The enema. Wrapped in pitta patter, smith. Two sheep inside one body. Good doctor same as Edwards dad, dead, before he could get his hands dirty. The cinema. In between a way wood town. Sitting with my sister watching scissor hands snip. Holly red snowflakes, Wales’s spotty magic beetle lady bird laced in London’s mistletoe lane. Hats off to Pudsey bear, the man inside who gave me a ticket to see the lion king for free.

Good sweet doctor i put my money on doctor Charlie. Dead horse. A tear rolled down my face in the cinema. Tears streamed at the theatre. Whilst outside the palladium my blue and yellow bike sniffing metallic with the stars leaning against the column got stolen. By the police, and taking to the Charing Cross station. American tourists mugged of their identity. Can you believe? I did. You do. Voodoo Dodo.

If a person or a piece of music or a sight or sound or anything moves you inside so that you leak water, then surely you are human. You are not a machine. Then again. Robotic links on sun done ties. To veer is not to strangle. If a who man cannot cry would you judge mental. Pointy finger.

All aboard. Those who can. Emotionally trip. Little Bo’s sheep set sail at three to the land of noddin the nod. The midnight express has long since gone. Train was drowned in cup of tea. Clicking on. Lamp lights a sight for sore eyes. Crunching butter on toast jam on toast, Miss McGonangles liver cod oil.

Click.

Sitting cross legged on the floor. This was the classroom of dinosaurs. Prehistoric circus. No ringmaster. The big top in charge of clowns. Warm fuzzy buzzy tingles. Every minute of every second of every day. Plugs firmly attached in the socket. Buzzled dust stripy bees. I got skimmy dangled warmness all. Cafe, Latte. Skimping out on mathematics. Pretending to be a monster from the past.

Roar roar dinosaurs, rolling on the floor. I don’t know how to tell the time on a clock, Spencer cries when its his turn to do times tables, the hands don’t make sense. Forgetting months of the year. Problems with the seasons. Jungled together on the tar pit. I wee myself when I laugh. Wet patch. Story time. All bots sit. Ears pricked listen. Mr Hoppy’s mouth opens worlds like stolen cinnamon whirls.

Mr Wicks dice pop in the broom cupboard, higher or lower, guess right, win yourself a sweet in chops. Candy man jaw, brush stroke clean sheen, turpentine smell glossed up dining hall floor. Chippy dropped his chips on the first day so got given the name chippy. Grade one all over baldies older hes grown curtains but everyone still calls him baldy. Factory record tales. Flaky pastry white glazed spirals. This is warm fuzz stories. White noise. ZZZ’s.

Kettle boils
Cup chink
Plastic crumple
Jar spokes
Bowl clatter
Spoon clink
Wood steps
Feet pat
Memory
Bowl clunk
Toast Gnip
Cereal shuffle
Crispy tights
Submarine
Plastics rattle
Sirens whirl
Floorboards creak
Air released
Kettle bounces
Squadgy bubbles
Porridge gurgles
Water treacles
Jam on bread
Falling tickles
Grandpa Russia
Comrades dieing
Boilers choir
Water splosh
Bag rustle
Of ching
What is
The key
Of ching
What makes
The ching
Lovely rita
Water meter
Wood pot
Spoon tap
Puddsys copper
Head rush
Wall teach
Air speak
Plain sight
Smoking didge
Towel cigar
The lady
The lady
My lady
Me lady
Princess poppins mary
Aint no tramp.

Pop. Bones in the pot rattle and roll. Clean faces. Good skin. I guessed higher and won myself a love heart from Mr Wicks our old flat capped school rolly smoking caretaker.
Kiss me. Quick. White noise. Together as one. Handsome girls pretty boys. The speaker. Sophie seeds the rows. Click click. The pressure of a pen. Knife edge living. Writing on a lap top that dies sporadically. Jesus. Silver haired foxes bark like quacking ducks. To the dinosaur boys. Little ships little ships,

“what you drinking?”
This is the bottle that makes you feel, warm and fuzzy tingles inside. Push the button and the bus bell rings, sugar cane from Costa Rica. Or do you miss it. Then sit. To scared to push the button. Stop after stop. After stop. Silence rings. Until there are no more, stops.

All ears attentive in the cross legged group. The little people escaping the world in their blessy ships of fancy. Angel cakes. Sweeties smarties on the tube. Slide whistles on the radio. Clanger tunes. Cheerio. Earth. Cheerio rim sea room diving. Red boots. Happy socks. Rocketeers. This girl you girl this girl it girl, you girl came out of your tent dressed as a space cadet. Pretty girl. Most gorgeous girl i have ever seen. Woman. Venus. In both real life and dreams. I thought you were the one. When i believed in one. One planet one love. In another life i was Bob Marley. My hands hugging for warmth round the flickering candle. In another life Crutchett. I mean Bob crutchett.

Now. Now. Now. Brown cow. I am clear. My mind is tuned on. Turned on by magic. The twelve. Buried in January. I’m clear. I know what i know. Cat burglars on the souls of my shoes. You heard diamonds are a wet pussys best friend. Skipping to the end spaced mix blend. Re-wind. For all of a pan-cake. A monsoon of sifted flour in those finger dancing falling drifts of sand. I don’t have any belief. In rings around Saturn. Honey nut loops. At all.

Rocket girl blowing on my mind. Gravity blipping ecstasy. The one diddly done. Cracker bread. In the house of rye. Living off of cracks of rye. Underneath the hot dog. A spare mackintosh, cold fire dumplings. Turning into a doughnut. Mick Jagger lips puckered round the bottle. Your bottle the bottle purse. Sweet pants rocket girl. All and all. Everything. Counting passing clouds ships in the bottle. Is this the game. I always believed no games. Just no game. Was that the biggest lie. The big sleep. Lying in. Missing coffee. The sack. No money. No sack. Running my finger all over your body uninvited. In control your in control. Wooden spoon. Trying to put the wellington boots on over my running shoes at the egg and spoon. Square pegs around holes. Race.

Fuck. Love before kiss. Love her. Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her. Friendly fires kiss her. Why no game. No game. Game over. How many times. Pac Man. Highest score. How many, me say messy nesty nessy. Clifford Hack. Tekken two Wang vs. King.

You roving your sex lash eyes over these words are the greatest actress to grace any age. Babe. Mother. Daughter . Sister. Crone. Spinner. Cherub. Princess. Devil. Angel. Goodie. Bad girl. Dreamer. Sinner. Loser. Winner. Hot pot. Wrapped cloth. Covered. Bared. Older. Younger. Tall. Tiny. Ballerina. Mary mari. Yardee yardee. Rudey rudey laddette, lady, child woman whore, madam, little girl, world of gravity, space and time. You play them snow white. Every day a different face. A different mirror. Fairest of them all.

I got this whirr king pop out eye coloured deceased. Costa Rican bottle. Albino white haired bottle. No one. Knot one. Stitch one. Curl one. Psiren. All in all. Every character i love i live for.

The game. I have no idea who or what you are. Or who you will be. Or how you will be sliding in two. Acting every second. On shake pears stage. How you turn them on. Twinkle twinkle. All of them. Turned on. They see you and they are done in like moths.

Like three cold outside drawn to the blazing fire. Belief. Three spinners cradling fables. Warped up fuck. Here i go judge mental. Again, again. Either or. Eeyore. Kierkegaard, Monkey or door key.

Peace Eastwood. Shoot him down. Shoot him down peace. The man who shot. He shot. He was the bravest of them all. Liberty valence is your top banana monkey in the jumble sale, the duke of flukey earl, selling smarmy wanker marmalade to spread all over your toast,

Look at him, bland, uninventive, Amish with food, hedonistic orgasm, silent eating, he’s having it, bland,
“eurgh your going to have it, dry dry dry mmm dry dry dry.”
Keep it wet wet wet, Rocket girl, I’m going to have it, dry dry dry.

Splosh in the dried out dream of fantasy. Tying knitten labels on all the lettuce leafs in the garden. Benjamin bunny buttons on the blue and white striped jamboree.

I believe in you

Han Som princess. Solar star. When your psiren song fails it makes you want them more. Its like if they want you too much then away you go. If they blinker strong you drop flakes in there all dragon eye shards of snow. Although i know after a kiss you melt. Poisoned apple eve. The words of a player on your lips. A player you shall always be.

At the train station looking on the departing train.
“If i knew that was the last time i was going to kiss you i never would have let go.”
A prayer that accused me of playing games never mind nirvana tick tack toe.

Help me, i don’t want to be here, help.
“are you going to ask her to marry you, are you are you, are you, do you love her, do you do you?”

Fuck me, what happened to the enjoyable journey, rutted canyon, wooly prayer, see you later stars and moons, see you spoons. I’m climbing out of this sea into another bottle, a green webber, hope hopping to other worldly frog ponds.

Sugar me spicy timbers, you cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut me, curry and ketamine and sarah, scary scary claws, take away take away.

Help me somebody. Im trapped in a spiders web of deadly disease. Dead eye duck plungers stuck on my face. Brick attack. Frying pan clan. Pang tang clang. In between two players. Surfing triangles. Pre emptive drowning in the sea. Bermuda puddles playing hide and seek with planes and boats in the relentless pouring rain storms.

White doves snow balls Mitsy turbos, gravity blips. Terrys chocolate orange. Did you know? Theres a club called Hacienda on the moon. Everything covered in golden syrup. Luckily i took my slice of orange pain early. Used up a life. So i didn’t die. My belief went for a dive. Boxer took it slap. Crack of Morrison. Factory glue. Eeyore eeyore.

Donkey believes. I will wait for you forever. Honey honey honey. Why not. Dont let it kill you inside. Monkey believes. Bonobo. Fuck play fuck play. Wet play wet play. Wet break. Kiss chase. British bulldog. Hokey cokey. Running man. Lets have a multi link fight.

Belief. Time. Space. Wait. If i did wait, and we never got, never stepped out sharing happy faces time and space together with the earth. Making each other. Feeling good again and again above and above. Rocket girl rocket girl, rocket children whoosh rocketing the future. If I waited and us two wool packs never became one ship stitched in time with space. Well. The bucket of water from the well, the drips in the treacle holes. The ice cream licks. Ninety nine. Johnny five alive. When we died. Off We float to another world. Where we would not suffer. Believers wouldn’t suffer. Time would be space, your girl, your girl. Two as one. You wouldn’t be shipwrecked all alone, as the songs go, all your life. More or less.

Cat lady, bag lady, whiskers on your chinnagan old mother hubbards baby girl lonely crazy old hairy moustache cheeky beard lady. Love lady love lady love the fur on your face lady.

Actress sweet actress. You are the tower. Cracked in two. The candle melting on its plate. My beliefs. Snuff. Blown. Like dandy spirals. Ninja cuts. Spillers hill. Zen. Lemon Jelly. Bees. Jazz. Swing. Lamb. Lullabies. Eyes closed walking backwards. Your range. Has stabbed my brain. Cut the canopy in my mind. Chainsaws chopping down the the rain forest that grows beneath my eyes. Pouring oil on all the warm and fuzzy tingles. Killing them with ice. Hack hack. Im sick youve killed me. Im dead. Thank you.

My beliefs were shit wrapped up in fog horns. Belief in love. Belief in the one. The way to crack the matrix. No game. No stage. No rat race. Just ren and stimpy life. Hand grenade. Pin out. Super slide. Now my beliefs are toppled blocks. Brick by brick falling down, falling down.

Confusion. Ching ching ching. Im walling in the valley of roll roll roll. Everything is perfect. It goes so well. Dont need no break, don’t need no fix. A cat miraculously landing on my feet. Except there’s a what. This is a what. A heart inside me. A mind a soul. A floating apple cave. My cave is confused by the sea. Am i playing a game now. Jumanji. Am i a package tied up with brown string. It’s the wrong trousers. Grommits falling out my ears.

Breathe deeply.

Moving on you see space and time, i want you to be freer than free. Wrap you up in Freya bringsamen’s cloak to turn you into a bird, mahjee chariot of cats.

You eater my crisps
You eater my crisps.

Listen. Put it to your ear. The shoe. The tea cup. The sound of waves. You weren’t listening to me. Hawai, Leonardo painting, the beach. Naked. We sat in a spiral. Shell. Bermudian style. He looked at you and said,
“when i look at you all i want to do is kiss you.”

Triangle

Space tells me that when boys say they want to kiss you it makes you feel strange. I guess it wouldn’t be the same if the words were spoken by a squirrel. Nuts and berries, nuts and berries. Love and marriage. Then again. You say so much. Deeds not words. Kiss me kiss me. What’s new and what’s half baked apple pie. Go on boy speak Pisces of my mind. Fish bone jigsaws in the sea.

Circle

Time, your looks, your whole self is attractive, gorgeous, you know this, surely you know this, you’re a light house. You asked about sirens, surely knowing you’re the queen, sending each squeaky matey clean bubble bath sailor boy to his death. One by one. Drowning in the cold forgotten tea of bitter sweet dreams.

I was trying to tell you. Sweet cherry pie, would always have this effect on boys and men and that it was quality, a good one to embrace buff shoe bursting star shine. I wanted you to know, not that it was any business of mine, that you were free to feel strange or not and kiss whoever you like. Getting compliments everywhere you go, making the space you walk into time sparkle like the golden black magic shimmery Christmas jacket of the neo lucid mountain shaolin master tiger fu.

Space. I never thought i would want space from you. Endless dream. Time.
When ever you invite us in. Or out. Were like vampires. Lost boys. Given permission to walk through the door. We fly like fish
hooked on string. Spinning leafs falling from the tree to be by your side.

Autumns ever turning leafs swapped for mistletoe and red holly berry.

Time i know how my insides staple when were together. Then apart you treat me cold. Cold cold cold. Space. I realise you have so many different faces. So many different sides and life’s. That the clicking tick tock mask you wear when with me is plain lies.

I feel like a dog. A dog that has been beaten as a puppy. Kicked again and again. A dog that doesn’t know how to play the games. Never heard of fetch. Cant play tuggy, cant play ball.

Plans, labels. Didnt plan on seeing you both on the same day. Whirr. Pop out eyes. How you changed. Slipping into snidey games, that i know everybody plays. Cyril. Why call her blousie when you can call her fat sam. Why call him buggsy when you can call him tooloola.

Whip me harder, whip me, whip me, whip me first, do it, do it again, your not man enough to whip me your a coward, you only whipped me once, one more time, scream if you want to go faster.

For spiders eyes sparkle and jokey games go on, carry. Five year old Micheal Jackson shut ready to perform for his family in a suitcase. Leaping out covered in the paint of a traffic lights red streaming glow, moonwalking on the inside of her, on the wrong side of the road.

I’m the puppy with ribs that doesn’t know how to play Donkeys. I kiss the one goodbye without even so much as a touch of lips. Message in the bottle. Siren so gorgeous aint for me. Space. Tick-tock. Is it within reach to make time, feel alive as time makes me.

Monkey attacks hearts without cost. Spirits tall like the oak giant tree. How i want to massage your body. Grant you sweet ecstasy. With every turning page, ever bright new tomorrow, man yarna man yarna, manna catching every spinning leaf. Except out of love, i want nothing more than for you to be. Your self. Let the falling leafs be. Truly free. Slipping. Floating. From earth to air. You choose what every day will be. Maybe you shouldn’t listen to my words. Maybe i should shut up and watch your eyes.

Kiss.

Eating an apple. I reflected mirror talk.
Your the best.
All my thoughts i put into the core. After the five seed apple cave of long ago. The thoughts i erased. Rubbed out brand new day of brushed teeth. The day that looks like a rotter.

A rotter. Already you use a different set of lips. Rotter. His lips, rotten to the core.
You always pick at mouldy crab apples my friend, doctor Charlie said to me. Mouldy crab apples that on the outside look good to eat. But on the inside are rotten to the core. A rotter. I don’t believe in doctors. Nurse, I can make it sparkle. Why bother, finally im free. Off the apron strings. Cut the umbilical noose. Loose Chords about this house.
Ruby says,
“Stay away from minors, only play with Majors.”

Poisoned apples for sale columbine columbine
poison in the basket
the queen
eve
black and blue trees
fade to back
constant gardening
more fruit more
hold me soothe me

Eating an apple, i reflect, have i given up, should i fight to win your heart with every ounce of my body and breath. What am i doing pretending im too busy to see you for a cup of tea. Im not too busy i just don’t want to see you, id feel like id be a biscuit drowning, drowning, drowning. No. I decide. Rover clover. Im not giving up. Im battering on my belief love inn tea and no games. So i aint going to fight to win you like some trophy, i give up to let you be, complete free bird, like a red balloon floating in the sky.

Am i going to meet you for a cup of tea, am i, Id rather stay well away safe and warm. Is there anyone out there. Whoever you are. Were warm and safe. A drip of black sheep attached to our veins.

The tide is happening. This years the first one. Soon tide soon. Moon tide moon.

At peace be the journey. Theres a gap of white. Looking first thing in the morning. A hole. Waiting to be filled. Dorks. A door key. Dorky dorky door key.

My lips

Click.

Sitting on the floor cross legged. Listening to a story. Shoes. Shirts. Jumpers. Colour filled faces, grey skirts socks, shoes. Trouser sunshine. Window bright. Streaming light. Zoom. I am plunged into darkness. Trapped. Help. Im lost. Where have i gone? Who turned out the lights? Black out. A voice from above. Who is that voice? High up. Strong. Where is everybody? Dark shimmers. I’m sat cross legged on my own. Tracing paper in the night. I can see flowers. Looking down the static jumbled scratchiness of the blue red strand electric carpet is still beneath my cross bared legs.

Naked skin between shorts and bobbly socks. I am still in the same spot. Eerie. Where are my class mates? I’ve been taken away. I’m inside a skirt. A ladies skirt. Mrs Martins skirt. I am sat crossed legged in between two legs. The skirt reaches all the way down to the floor encircling me like a round wall. That is what i felt as i was plunged suddenly into darkness. Then my eyes adjusted i could see the blue the flowers. The voice from up high really was above. A temple directly above my head. I wondered then. What must it look like on the outside, the other side of the skirt wall. At first a boy. In the open carpet of blue. Visible. Sitting as if by magic disappears. Underneath the teacher visiting a teachers dress. Step step cheerio. All eyes on the new speaker. All eyes on the spot where once sat boy but now sits wall.

Perhaps this was the best way to be taught. What if the classroom was full of teachers in long dresses standing over pupils? Trapping them, encasing them in skirt walls and speaking. A head above a head. Students sat in darkness under skirt in between legs. Power of chakra. What would it be like to medidate under a skirt?

I was. Meditating. On life. The carpet. The flowers. The dark lights. My eyes. The warm and fuzzy tingles. Then boom. Back into the room. Bright white. Back to life. Hello faces. Welcome home. Mrs Martin must have turned on a heel and gone. I was sat in the same spot as before.
Where did you go? Another world. Another galaxy. Meditation roe de den drum forest skirt hall. As if by magic vanishing trick, all in a little time. Such a short stitch. Left me amazed. Changed always the same. Piece of candy rock island life steps. Strange fish. Beautiful boy. Meets butter fly girl.
“Did you look up did you look up?”
Asked the boy who liked to put his hand down his pants, then find people to smell.
Huh? Nah.

I saw that the floor was carpet. Blue. Then i saw the patterns on the flowers. Then i wondered where i was. Then i realised i must be trapped underneath a skirt. Then i thought should i say,
“hey err, I’m trapped inside your skirt” before i thought I’d just keep quiet and see what happens, then flash ambulance spinner, new world, new scene, i wonder if she knew, if the cats mother could see me.

Cradle rocking body snatchers label making knifes edge breakers. Tie them to your string your string you tie them to your strings.

My Ribs through skin
its ok to eat fish
Knots on the bedpost
leafs spinning
on string
ever so gently
turn in the wind
I was after all
really very very small.

The moths that like the early morning sun
They stay up late till the work is done
Flip flap flap
flutter
fly away
in the light of the moon
to make the world safe
they drip drop drop
stars like the rain
Sheffields floods came
Then they went away.

Once upon a perfect sphere space got wet and time got dry together kissing above the water falls where under stands and over flies.

This is the perfect day to stay with each other in the shelter of our bed.

Mistletoe mistletoe
Who will buy
My sweet white roses
Mistletoe for sale

Orange peel
Orange peel
Do you throw tangerine skins
Into the river

Flowers for the Thames
Flowers for the Ganges.

One day when they are least expecting it
Floating up above the relentless pouring rain of the factory,
The parcels mixed up by the jumble monkeys tied up with pretty brown string
Will find the missing labels they’ve been looking for.

Stasis. In the end. It’s me and you. Space and time. Time and space. Flying kites. Birds of a feather. Eating chips cheese and beans. Pudding peas and pie ee i ee i. Floating rivers. Handel’s whirr. Knitting needles at the factory. Winding up the prayer wheels. Aphrodite. Freya. Diana Luchena Saleena. Apollo. Shalom.

Coma drowned welcome back to reality welcome home sweet Shafiah sun rise may your world be filled with love laughter and light.

The beginning.
Of your bright new tomorrow is today
Shine.