Jan 9, 2016
Irradiated Babelon
The glowing strips of city where the bars live are lined with neon crosses, lest all the dead mother fuckers be remembered. I'm inclined to make the sign of the cross, fallen catholic that I am, when I walk this row, reminescing on demise. This is where a certain category of troubled person congregated. What could we have been if not for the oblivion of ourupbringings? Let this coughing, wretching, scabbing neon dump of fantastic art be a monument to all that we managed to be. All us dead mother fuckers who take this walk, This irradiated death-march.