Don't go all soft on me

[Sepia]

Automagically you, we drown in a cascade of flowers. They didn't respect us when we were alive but they did respect us when we were dead. There was a party there in the church, remembering us and everyone was in on it, it felt good, it felt like we mattered when we were alive, it felt like the part of that movie where you know that it's a shit flick but there is a warmth and a fuzziness that won't subside, there it is, that gut feeling. You were there at the party and so was mom and dad and all our relatives, mingling with the cremant from bourgogne foaming with the sparkling bubbles that only non-champagne can produce and you were there and so was I. A magical moment, a story contained within a world or the other way around but it was life just so much more

intense. The niggers are still out after we've all gone home from work, their broken backs and proud eyes, remembering there's still people out there, whatever their creed or race they aren't pampered, aren't a connected member of the establishment, aren't seething with animosity towards society as a whole and the sense of disconnection. We are in the lands of chaos even though we imagined every other nation as that, not our own and we didn't question why, we were just proud because we understood every word that was used, we understood the culture and we might have rebelled it earlier but it felt soothing now, not caring about it all made you weary but when it welcomed you in like this, you felt like hot chocolate infront of the hearth, of course there was a hearth

We're still cavemen, preparing concoctions to bend what we know but we never do it gradually and we come home from work on friday, take a shit and grab a nap, before making the same calls you haven't noticed you've done the last year and line up
1 line of cocaine
1 shot tequila, chilled
3 finely ground magic mushrooms of preferrable brand
Liquid LSD

Utensils:
Creditcard, Shot glass, Grinder(espresso), Lime
Line up one line of cocaine, mimicking the salt. Grind the mushrooms and keep them in a ramekin close to the shot glass. Right before serving, add mushrooms to shot glass, then top with tequila. Cut wedges of lime and dry them softly with a paper towel. When serving, drop LSD onto it.

It didn't cut it so we're waiting for something else to take our minds off of things, we're waiting for a good fuck and an interesting conversation but we find everything else bland, we've been here so many times and we've thought these thoughts so many times and we're embarassed and we can hear a simple wailing trumpet in the background, we're still at the theater, we're still dreaming and the moment seizes us and we both know it's happening, we both know it's real and there, vibrating with pleasure and joy, opening up to heaven and to hell but most of all understanding

precious thing which we've strived for, all these years, all these lifetimes and achievements, all these downers and mishaps, every little lie and joke told in earnest, the hole we've imagined in our souls, the abyss and heaven itself with father god sitting at his throne and jesus is there, solemn but happy, buddha is seen in garden underneath a tree, nyarlathotep breaks free from his prison in the pentagon, the answer to the ultimate question is given but a new question arises and we see this from the ledge of the godhead, staring down at existence through madonnas eyes

then it ends like marlon brando said it would and as it ends we see these flashes, we see elvis next to nixon, reminding us that every thing that happened while it lasted, it didn't matter what age it happened, if we were twenty thousand years apart we were still the same men and women that lived in caves, grunting like our smarter brethren who stayed in the trees and we didn't ever change all we did was adapt to technology, from fire to the atom. In dreams we still scream out, remembering a different age that happened ages ago and you relive it with your own symbols but the yearning where it comes from predates you with planets and still we

listen to his master voice, every hour on the hour. We are complex monsters for it is our desire, we can never become angels, we are always here in the shit they buried us in, a shallow grave unremembered for it is where we are going, our longing for oblivion is taking us places, telling us stories we don't know how to respond to


just like we imagined them

[the last yatto]

[Sepia]

that is quite accurate