I am roaming the streets with a scream in my chest, fuelling the fire with liquor and cigarettes, dazed by my first encounter with the void. There is nothing to be found after that point, we’re wagons full of dead meat accelerating towards nothing as we passed the end of the line a long, long time ago.
I’m bar-hopping and dry-humping through the city chaos, filling in the blanks with nonsense and sex magic. They say that not all those who wander are lost - no fuck that. Everybody’s lost and nobody wanders : there is no territory, no space-time. We hallucinate them to keeping boredom at bay, raising the elbow to maintain a blurry sight.
I’m stumbling across the nights, drowning the pain in women’s touch. It’s best to be numb in times like this, nothing quite like love and sweat to dull the edge of eternity.
I wake up every morning with an ache in my head and a hole in my heart, cursing the sun for bringing forth another day. I mix the shame with coffee and cigarettes, take a shit and face the music. Write some code. Beg for God’s mercy, even though I know I’m talking to an empty sky. However you deal with damnation, man.
Because we are specters haunting a dead world. Waiting for an apocalypse that already happened.
Come find me under the moon and the flickering neons, grim and cheerful, tipsy and hollow, pure and vain. I will dance for you to the sound of the bursting bubbles, stare awkwardly, talk nonsense, kiss you and puke on your shoes. Over and over again, until the sun is cold and death do us part.
Praise Mahakali, praise the Snake and fuck the rest.
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