absolute stream of cun-tiousness
Boom…boom, boom. Tribal, house, eerie beats. Mind lost, groovin’, bumpin’. Progressivley spindling in liquified licorice ropes of thougt that dissovle like cotton candy, sizzling into popping atoms. Canals of turqoise flow a’round purple pyramids that rotate in the retina of the opiate-induced mentale of the bearded lady lying in the freak tent, leaking onto the fabric in black-light puddles. Someone laps up that technicolor sauce and spins into a lamp of hanging, purple tassells, lashing the onlookers’ faces to no effect.
The ceiling is a series of hammering blocks that must be calculatied precisely in order to not get crushed on your way to the droga bar. ONce successful and well bellied-up, you can take one of the tarts wrapped in red into your sweaty palms and ingest at your will. I’ve lost my train…best catch a bus.
s.g sansom
Boom.
PJ Ryan
what i loved was liquified licorice ropes of thougt that dissovle like cotton candy because a few of those words are almost backwards but i still speaketh the language LOL quite fitting really so please leave it ;)
... and pass the technicolour sauce please.