piper
You hate your writing, you love your writing, you hate your writing, you love your writing. Isn't it always the same.
I'd like consistency. --I wouldn't like it at all.
Saturday I was in ecstasy on ecstasy, though it was probably a mistake. It was a massive at the electric daisy carnival with over fifty DJs and bands. There were laser shows and rides and lots of love and thousands of young people getting together and tripping while we reached out. There weren't any rapes and not many fights, most were in a good mood. And beforehand I was thinking "I'm not going to miss the shimmering lights or the affection and empathy; I'm going to lay in my friends' laps and stroke their hair while a kind skilled stranger does glow stick shows in my eyes, I'm going to lovingly rub the thighs of a friend-boy rendered temporarily impotent, and I'll tell David all about it later, and we'll both be understanding." I only ever think of him, anyway. So why am I coming and leaving. Right, but a person has to get on.
There was a man catching everyone's attention. He was playing a stringed pole like the arm of a cello and a bow to slide on it with. He had two spotlights illuminating his tall stout figure, he was wearing a dark purple cape, viking boots and a very large coat of Roman armor that ran to the highs of his legs. He had fans blowing on his body and his cape fluttered in the wind as if he were standing on the bow of a ship, his music was synthetic and sounded like a siren singing sitting in a cove playing a violin. He had long white hair wild like Beethoven's, he bulged his eyes out and made ecstatic faces, he had collected a conglomeration of kids candy-flipping or tripping or rolling who gathered round him sitting cross-legged like kindergartners thinking it was the most bizarre, magnificent thing they had ever seen. I thought it was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen.
I'd like consistency. --I wouldn't like it at all.
Saturday I was in ecstasy on ecstasy, though it was probably a mistake. It was a massive at the electric daisy carnival with over fifty DJs and bands. There were laser shows and rides and lots of love and thousands of young people getting together and tripping while we reached out. There weren't any rapes and not many fights, most were in a good mood. And beforehand I was thinking "I'm not going to miss the shimmering lights or the affection and empathy; I'm going to lay in my friends' laps and stroke their hair while a kind skilled stranger does glow stick shows in my eyes, I'm going to lovingly rub the thighs of a friend-boy rendered temporarily impotent, and I'll tell David all about it later, and we'll both be understanding." I only ever think of him, anyway. So why am I coming and leaving. Right, but a person has to get on.
There was a man catching everyone's attention. He was playing a stringed pole like the arm of a cello and a bow to slide on it with. He had two spotlights illuminating his tall stout figure, he was wearing a dark purple cape, viking boots and a very large coat of Roman armor that ran to the highs of his legs. He had fans blowing on his body and his cape fluttered in the wind as if he were standing on the bow of a ship, his music was synthetic and sounded like a siren singing sitting in a cove playing a violin. He had long white hair wild like Beethoven's, he bulged his eyes out and made ecstatic faces, he had collected a conglomeration of kids candy-flipping or tripping or rolling who gathered round him sitting cross-legged like kindergartners thinking it was the most bizarre, magnificent thing they had ever seen. I thought it was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen.