Dark nights in downtown bars,
the neon rainbow, the congregation speaks in tongues.
the mating ritual reduced to the brusk one-liner,
cackling laughter of witches covens huddled over long island iced teas.
The incessant bellowing of the jukebox adds desperation to an atmosphere already thick with smoke and shattered dreams.
I love the pop of a match struck from a paper book,
The eulogies of dead souls carved deep into stained tables.
the table is bathed in blood red from the sign in the corner.
and in the corner I sit.
Peering out on the circus in front of me
clowns in gay colors dancing to the discordant tune of vice and lust!
Happy depression, the mock life of the tragic soul, dancing in death and flittering fairy lights.
like Hunter Thompson said “buy the ticket, take the ride” Were all just passengers here. The driver left, went out for a smoke and never came back.
The lunatics run the asylum, an isolated patch of anarchy designed to provide controlled pressure realese so the inmates can return to the asylum compliant and complacent.
Nothing matters here because there is no memory. No consequence except the hangover.
So my friends, dance on, forget about yesterday and tomorrow, only now matters, and right now I need a drink!
13
May
11
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