Toxic Sky Flash

Some more drug prose 4 the books :-)

Toxic sky flash (Composed June 2010)

Love at the speed of light, i fashion a meth lolly from a light-bulb and obsessively siphon a miniscule portion of the crystalline flakes into the glass, super heated by my cheap lighter into a sizzling liquid, the thick chemical smoke inhaled though two sets of lungs.

Love is a funny thing, I often think about whether a male dog has any feeling for his offspring. Or whether love isn’t just a biological imperative? Why do these drugs make me feel alive while they kill me?

The Ocean looks different tonight. No longer an abysmal swamp of stolen dreams, but rather a teaming energy field of limitless potential. I want to dive into it and frolick along its joyful edges. But the drugs are sure to run out soon enough and gloomy clouds of a thousand wasted Mondays can be seen not to far off the halcyon horizon.

What delights we share but all alone are we in our misery, despite its need for company. A season passes and there again I sit on the same beach, this time alone dreading the approaching night. My cupboard awaits, where I will spend the winter, cowering over a candle, trying to relive the joys of some an illusory past.

On Music(June 2008)

Some shit I wrote while fucked up on Crystal Meth, a month or so before I went to rehab.

The nebulosity of winds, inter-dimensional kinetic waves, rhythm, melody, harmony and the exasperated tones that full my dream-journeyed wings , lead me ever further on my monolithic quest, yes like the lull domineer of old stone, the self prophecies of ones own death can bring out the warrior in us all.

The amphetaminesque freeform jazz solos of all tomorrow’s raves propels me, like a loosened fungal spore drifting through outer space. An interminable alien ciphering ancient rhythms while encapsulated in the bone-cage of a matriarchic whale laid to rest well below the photic zone of last mitternacht's dream. I find it unsettling to imagine the scenario of her death. Her youth and a promised kingdom stolen by untimly death; nothing but a ransacking lot of scoundrel sharks with nothing better to amuse themselves with. Keeper of secrets, she is, knowledge that can only be deemed abstruse to humanity. There she lies as pure as death while the Charcharian beasts bare open her untainted breast. The oozing crimson blood of the tender queen is now shrouding the violence in an osmosising vector of of the dying queens cherished and dazzling phosphorescent biogenic fluids and then her departing soul gives but one last echo into the endless oceans of her unrealized empire. With the beasts included, it promises to be quite a theatrical spectacle.

I digress. I need not much more than the droning synchronicity of my organotronic orchestra to allow the entirety of my entity flux across the fluorescent bloodstream of humanities absurdist landscapes of a Utopia that never existed. And I get of at the next bus stop.