Gods away on business.
Where do I begin?... On the heels of rimbaud moving like a dancing bullet through the secret streets of a hot new jersey night filled with venom and wonder. Meeting the queen angel in the reeds of babylon and then to the fountain of sorrow to drift away in the hot mass of the deluge... To sung praise to the king of those dead streets. To grasp and let go in a heavenly way -- Streaming into the lost belly of civilization at a stand still. Romance is taking over. Tolstoy was right. These notes are being written in a bathtub in Maine under ideal conditions, in every curio lounge from Brooklyn to Guam, from Lowell to Durango. Oh sister, when i fall into your spacey arms, can not ya feel the weight of oblivion and the songs of redemption on your backside we surface alongside miles and standish and take the rock. We have relations in mozambique. I have a brother or two and a whole lot of karma to burn... Isis and the moon shine on me. When Rubin gets out of jail, we celebrate in the historical parking lot in sunburned california.
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