these days, colors come in all shapes, but none of them seem to fit right. that isn't totally true tho. only right now. the nowness in which everything has a green glo-stick glow like aliens went to bad techno raves and the MDMA just made their pupils explode into this supernatural thing, crawling between the bricks. they are here for that, that thrill, that ectacy that good shit, and they won't leave until they've found it. i am foremost aid in this endeavour b/c they thought i had the hookups.
does anyone know where i can get some real ecstasy? not that speedball knockoff, but like, ectacis? you know, way back, didn't they invent that in 1969 or 1956 in a small wine poetry gallery or an unending open field and then it promptly disappeared from the universe. i want to find that. the little green men iz after me for it, and they mean business. or seriousness. ecstasy is only a joking matter when the joke tugs you just within the cusp of ectasis, that is it. that is the joke. as the laugh track winds down and the city still lowercases my i's. strange to think of you now, unsustainable mishmash of narcotic corn syrup eyed dreams. i come back to you tho, it is more than an unhealthy unsustainable relationship, it is a human one, and we apes love the glory of defeat like it was the drug itself. so i wander round you and weave my fingers in yr bones as if yr arms had some semblance of being open. blear eyed red-mortar skeleton girl. strange to think of you without real transport or eyes. strange to keep writing these odes in the absence of people to nonexistent entities as if they were entities that existed. strange.so strange.