From the Lust of Heat 2

The bastards swimming in the back wouldn't you know... The liquid leather of beer drains like a mucus down the back of my throught. The Gonzo Royal Emporter swims in my veins heavy from an afternoon of deep loathing and sweat chills of random late afternoon inebreations. The sand sticks to me like an evangelical from his pecker, round about the ol' ankles resting up on a mutated palm. The seagulls are screaming and the ocean is pulsing with a rushing breath, and I swayed on the back of the bike tween them sandy sandy legs. But now the hour is late and we discuss the TV land traugh and observe the truths of talk shows. Think about it, some brilliant freak is set behind a counter ready to blast, with non of that que-card shit, puling the pud onto the face of some obscure vulnerable un fucking prepared celebrity. My neck is the very essence of wet nudle. This is a sick state my friends; the paranoa in the air strikes to an intence brilliance drenched in stupidity. The vegging has patheticly comenced and with all the shit in the air there is the hope for leasure....or some bullshit likr that. I hope Iam able to spell because Im blind. I just have sister avt to guid me.... oooooo this is true blue sloth right now. Cheese and all my friends. god it's like talking to an infant with a thom yorke eye. The smile is there but the mood sn't the same. Kinda like wanting to kill it becuse it just rubs you an earily obscene way. Drown it in it's own slimy mucus. Oopoh boy! That stuff slides down the throught like the blackest coffee. I'm fried my frineds an in need to doodle. Farewell from the sloth of sweat and the obscenity of insomnia. To all of you I send my deepest love, and to you angknowledge that the journey is never really done my fxriends. To you I love you all in thet truest from. SO I leave you with only this, my never dying love, which will return. My promise...
But now I doodle,for the love of living....streetlights and seasons bright....