Prose from the DiscoTek (Bubble)

Lasers and strobe lights and the mindless beat that parades the mind.
Life's constructions distracted and suspended in disassembly...
and the girls go to work.
Knowing the bolts are always able to be loosened.
Another night after the Thailand heat subsides and the promise of another night begins.
The necessities of life layed like a gurney patient in an endless wait.
If the American dream has become a rhetorical footnote, then true enough that a Thailand promise is under the light of the knife.
The day's ferry tales of youth have crippled the earnest patient in his naivety...
and the girls go to work.

Your TV sets and bookazines.
Your coffee tables and polites.
Here life is a best guess, an experiment!
A lure of simple truths: a life better lived than planned, and an honesty as sure as food on the table ( let alone a possibility of a table existing}.
No psychiatrists required, only - The Bubble - and a stream of of blood.
No one knowing whether nutrients being fed or another patient being read.

I've found a new poison.
One that feed slowly can acclimate the pulse.
Can disengage the receptors, disentangle it's desires.
Life's last refugee...the secret quest of the starving mind,
an un - requisite of place or pattern....
and the girls go to work

The great thing about speaking your mind is that only the people that really listen will hear.
I venture this to be the safety that all truth tellers enjoy in the fog of plight.
A language limited and dispersed around talking points and heretics.