Look.
Listen.
Love him
Never give up.
This will leave me haunted.
“This will leave you haunted in your mirror…”
Now, all that I hold dear shatters with the light of coming dawn.
Suddenly, love is nothing but distortion and prostitution of my desire— the consequences of which confront me under unforgiving fluorescent lights.
It was St. Augustine who wrote that human unhappiness is divine evidence of our immortality— for we are all wild and restless hearts, and intuition tells us that Earth is not our true home.
We devoured all that we knew was rightfully ours and still wanted more— the city was a playground on permanent strobe effect, a wonderland of Technicolor delights. We danced like blue white fire despite the fact that our lives were dictated solely by the mistakes of our parents and disguised as ones of extraordinary privilege.
Before long, we ourselves were untouchable incandescent gold dust gods, foolish enough to believe that we could live forever with and within our bathhouse Garden of Eden, a white hot crack pipe fantasy world where Dionysius put crystal on his giant cock and fucked us for what seemed like an eternity of sleepless nights, where we burned with anticipation like a gasoline fire in a paper lantern Shangri-La. God’s sweat fell from his forehead to our lips as we savored the lemony sweet taste of freedom in our mouths...
