Me: So, you see, this is trees on a road. Autumnal etc. What the eye sees, the finite. HOWEVER, the Soul sees Hipstamatic. The indefinite..
Artist: lol. you're such a hipsta poet.
Me: You infected me. I'm not seeking a cure.
Artist: i'm not sorry
Me: I thought you would not be.
Artist: you thought not wrong
Me: I'm glad I didn't think so.
Me: Jayse, I can't hold a candle to you, although if I dripped red wax on you I'd totally photograph it in Hipstamatic ... Lucifer and Ina's 1969. Yeah, that would be cool.
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