nineteen years dead - consistent locations but fresh faces a year later
no thick stacks of red buddhism and alien head wisdom; but fat chunks of ecstastic transemotional compassion, unconditional love in the space of an hour and then, the morning's discourse. selfish highs in the thin veneer of generosity and the small minded, small bodied - Smiles to the face, knives to the kidney - branding cows as cowards, MOOOOOOOOOOOOO
even cigarettes pale in the noonday sun, fresh regret drying in the wind and leaving a thin salty residue on your cheeks - You gotta smile, you're at the doof, and nothing else matters, and there's al;ways more smokes, and there's always more jokes...
get on the dancefloor, i'll see you in the future.