Sweet happiness, you bring me more suffering than misery does, his silhouette in darkness reminds me of the demon I haven't missed at all. Headache ruthlessly woke me up from my dream and I hit the ground again, burried my head six feet under, filled my mouth with sand and choked till death embraced me warmly
The most flexible and shameless images always come to my mind when neon lights step in for the Sun, letting me release my longing. I dose every stimuli greedily to induce it as quick as possible cause I'm impatient to get to that place again. Dressed all in black, I hit the silent city, by myself but not alone. There was always someone, somewhere in my mind , who I could physically fell on my shoulder while wading through extraordinarily massive raindrops and looking for the entry to my fantasy, of which unreality I'm not quite sure. It's like a fever for me, when panthers take over the place and no one is there exept me, priviliged to watch all those fluorescent objects flying above my head while my drunkeness smugles my eyes and caress my temper, I move with them, mechanically but smoothly, I watch them shine and I feel ashamed for all those who are soundly asleep cause I know it's something far more real than just my imagination showing off. I carve for just another drink and just another step while the jazz beat is striked on drums and electricity joins the melody with me getting high on it. I am the only human being here, but not the only soul, we sing it all electric and we trip as a bunch of night crawlers fascinated in enlighted streets and I wish I could say more and be believed in the magical story that keeps on repeating. My hands smell of steel and my lips taste like the lemon drink I had in the meantime. I can't stop thinking of Ballard and Gibson when I climb the scrapers in my hunger for falling down and drowning in the yellow lights, dying from their beauty to fulfill it and I fear nothing and nobody. I wallow and roll on the pavement when the rain drops on me, I stroll, I pray, I drink and I sincerely want it to kill to honour the indescribable abyss, and to gratify myself during the eight minutes and eleven seconds of reaching another dimension of the same place.
I love the fusty smell of the elevators and staircases, the crack under the soles of my boots, I love to feel cold on my hands as I close my eyes and get soaked. My eyes bedazzled. My body flaccid. I don't want to go home, so I light a cigarette in the urban garden.
What am I needed for during the daytime, awake and sorber ?