Burning throat

coughing up blood is a strange matter. I image there are metal shavings and toxic chemicals in the air of this fine city. Every slow and heaving breath is like drinking pollution out of a rusted drainage pipe. The smog clouds hang around like a case of VD. We wonder why the kids are sick, wonder why we can't breathe, wonder why our sky looks hellish. The answer, our air is a fucked to death cloud of microscopic disease, and we suck in this air every second of everyday. 

We can't escape

the heat it seems. The days drag along with broken ankles as the temperatures rise. With each day of increasing heat the angst and madness of the Savages are driven closer to that one moment. Eventually an uncompromising wave of violence is going to hit the city, like a natural disaster of writhing bodies. Shattered glass sprinkles the streets, the pieces shine like fallen stars, planets and novas. The brutal jungle sits on edge nights like tonight, wandering eyes met with hate, fear, longing, misery, and so on. It's 2:09 in the morning, and the heat wave isn't calling quits.

search lights

i saw the oscillating beams of translucent light by the train station. it belonged to some sort of mexican market. above all else, it was beautiful. the rampant explosion of mariachi hit my ears as i passed by. the parking lot was filled with cars, they were a sea of believers in the church of the cheaper dollar. the search lights spun in a strange fashion, as if they were signaling an attack. perhaps we would all be struck down by foreign invaders. perhaps a signal to the lost souls who have drifted away on their ascension from life. they are shone a way to the heavens, and they have traveling music.

piccolo pete and gunshots

the sky lit up over the dry hills with the burst of each rocket. we watched from the drive way as gun powder, fire, coloring agent and other such chinese secrets exploded in the air. bottle rockets are beautiful. in the distance gunshots echoed into the landscape. in the heat of the garage dirty hands worked meticulously to empty out gunpowder. we might blow up the fucking world by sun rise.