live rust (or 'life under rocks')

last one into the hotel tonight. even the fish are asleep and the escalator is now stairs. the quiet is everywhere. as I resonate off of the cheap collassal roman architecture I ponder the thought that this week was designed to be, not so much a physical detoxification, but more a psychological deep cleaning. I can't say that I fully accomplished my intended goal on either side of the spectrum ... later into the future, on my last night in paradise, I will drop acid and rail dexidrine and cruise the strip for innocents. happy birthday obligations, you understand. but this is off-point. money, you see, has fucked everything in the before and after hands. how can anybody relax, strip off the anxiety of the mainland reality when you never lose cell phone reception anywhere on this fucking island? this is a place for love and happiness and suckers, but not me. all those things taste and smell like horrible shit, are too predictable, like a bad movie. but alas, this is an old and tattertered sentiment of mine, a rough but erotic caress to excite the rush of blood, an extra hand to pick up the thread buried in the sand. I for one need all the help I can get even if it is only a lame grifter's trick of my own design, so bear with me if this sounds too familiar. as time goes, this may prove to be our most difficult year to date. we have much to achieve and as the sun rises in every tomorrow, sure as hell and damnation, a slow forming schism will be found growing between the ocean and the sky. we are to bridge the gap, my friends. mend the horizon with our own sharpened bones, lash heaven and earth together with tendon and muscle tissue, fuck the void like rabbid beasts until we bleed into the sky and sea and there is no longer a distinction to the naked eye. it's a worthy goal and it marks this, Year Zero. be ready.