Monsters

You spend years hoping for someone to love, and there are those just waiting for you out there, people who hide the fangs and sharp talons in their skin bag garbs. Those people, some would call them people, are the true monsters that hide under your bed, behind the curtains, in the dark corners. They await a chance to sink their teeth in, to rip you apart, because they don't know better. Animals, they are no better than animals. All they know is pain and carnal pleasure, it is all they seek. This planet just happens to be inundated by them right now, they are all over. It is hard to imagine a world free of them, it is impossible. They are what nightmares are made of, they are the creatures that you have feared your entire childhood, the true inspirations for the vampire and werewolf, they are sociopathic, killers, and would eat you whole if given the chance.

So don't give them the chance, don't allow them in. Who are they? How can you tell? I pray you tell, for I cannot show you the way, I have only just started to realise the dangerous beings that roam in the darkness, seen their eyes, felt their teeth, lost a limb or two to them. I am just here to warn you, beware.

I am a Black Star

I was born the day you died,
thirty one years ago—
I was reborn when you died,
yesterday mourning.
It all started eighteen months ago:
our slow death.

I Bow to you, master smith of universes,
Mighty Goblin Disco King.
You pass the torch on to the world
waiting for the next Black Star to shine,
we are many, a legion of your children
all awoken by the changes in your persona
arranged movements of your beauty
all spoken, sung, made into discourse
of falling walls, bullies pushing,
drugged out evenings, dancing china queens.

I breathe, because I once saw the light which took you,
it said that it would be hard
it said it would be difficult
yet I know it was love which spoke to me,
it was love you went towards,
it is where we all go,
Us, Black Stars.

Conversation With a Recovering Sex Worker

"They all have a prize" she said,
"Each woman out there is willing,
has, probably is at this very moment,
selling herself for something.
Some do it for love, others for money,
there are those who do it for need
be it food drink or drug,
others just like the way it feels
to have a cock inside of them
that loveless embrace and meaningless fuck,
with some cash thrown on top
anything is good enough for them to cum."

She sips her coffee,
lights another cigarette
and as she looks down
cup in one hand resting on the table
bitting her pinky finger
then taking a big drag of smoke
and as she exhales she says

"But all of those women,
especially those who do it
for money or for drugs,
will have to fuck guys who are just dirty,
their cocks unwashed for days
with that white smegma shit on them
and who knows what else!
That rancid sweaty smell–
some stinking of garbage
others just violent assholes. You know,
the moment they close that door
those women are slaves to those men,
sex slaves. They've sold themselves
for twenty thousand pesos, their freedom
for one hour, they belong to them."

She takes another drag from her smoke,
her voice is shaky, her grip on the glass is tight.

"Those men are the kind of people
who'll do all sorts of perverted things,
especially to a young woman,
they like to see a pretty face wince in pain,
a pleasurable agony."

She looks towards the green mountains,
past the city skyline, past the busy and working city
as a serene air comes through the large windows

"I stopped doing that a long time ago,
sure I have my price, but it isn't some thing
just anyone can pay for. I gotta like you,
you've got to buy me dinner,
take me out dancing, show me
a good time around town.
Then, when we are back at your place,
then, and only after we've met MY
expectations, then you can ravage me,
or I you. Well, not you you, but
you know what I mean, don't you darling?"

She snuffs her cigarette.

Her Eyes Shone Like An Accretion Disk

She speaks to me in code
with the way everything came back
the memories
of nights at that bar just talking,

chatting, asking to just imagine
how blessed one must be
to be able to teach someone
to make love again.

Then I didn't know
I was completely unaware of it,
I had never had that chance
and never thought I would get.

Until I met you
and we went into that room
where we took off most of our clothes
making love without kissing.

We talked afterwards
you looked at my tattoos
I looked at your lips
the gap in your thighs

We didn't get to exchange numbers
but I looked for you there
many times
many many times

and you probably saw me
but you didn't let me know

I wanted to love you
something inside me just
wanted to love you
all I really wanted

Time passed, washing away
what happened that night
putting it in the back of my head, memory
where I never suspected it would come back.

So we met that day
9 months later
and you pretended, as
I pretended

like it had never been.

We saw each other
not 15 hours later
to catch a movie
about gentlemen with umbrellas

I touched your hand
I held it in mine
and from that moment
You had me.

I didn't care where I'd met you
before, on the streets
all I could see was that beautiful being
there, inside your eyes.

Flickering screen turned into flickering dance floor
we moved, swinging to the music
and just as the place closed
I kissed your lips

Then just outside on 23rd I kissed you,
then on 17th and 6th
again on 15th and 6th
all the way to 12th and 6th

Until you came up to my place,
invited because I knew your friends,
we talked about this night
then we went to my bed

I touched your skin softly
making amends where I could
stitching together the gaps
in your corporal heart.

Tearing my own out
undoing years of slowly sowing
stitches together, I found you
but you unraveled into a lie

with the Cinnamon water
blessed by a priest
sprinkled inside the corners
offering to open up some truths

which just came pouring out
like a sickness slowly dripping
to the sound of meeting hands
painful globes and wretched stench

of the truth leaking out.
She said it was normal
to feel this way
I said it was a terrible way to live.

She said I'd taught her
how to make love again
feeling herself in the moment
not having to forget.

For that I am thankful
because that night
so many years ago
sitting at that bar in Coral Springs

Sour Girl and I had our chance meeting
without much do or say
we were dancing around each other
like stellar bodies nearing decay.

You spoke truths
words that echoed through time and space
did I not listen well enough?
Where were you from?

Live Long and Prosper.

On a rainy day, court is in business.

There in the court

with the massive Queen

which sits in the middle of the great hall

just spitting out words to the masses, orders

Our lovely maiden–anticipates
swords unsheathed all in a row, stiff

a queue of would be gentlemen await her

across the entrance of the great hall.

While their hands tightly grasp their swords

their lips whispering of her great deeds,

it rains as the Queen loudly drowns away

a soothing sound of water coming down.

If it doesn't rain, the land withers.

If it doesn't rain, the crops die.

If it doesn't rain, there is no dinner.

If it doesn't rain, babies starve.

So she saves the world

enchanting crowds with red lips

floats across the open court

on her nimbus cloud.

Trying

I waited to throw out the cigarette butts with your lipstick on them. I just couldn't bring myself to before, but now it's no biggie. I guess it's my way of cutting it out of me.

Dance

Long legs and thin frame
She dances for the men
Who stare with eyes of green
at her slender frame on the pole
Meant to entice
Bring forth the need to be with her
But she covets the vertical smile
Of a woman like her
This is but an escape
From the nine to five grind
As she makes the pole hers
From eight pm to four am
A living is earned
Bread to feed the body
Dances to feed her soul
She rides the brass dick
To keep her head above water
As her body grooves to the beat
Of the music
Naked
A breath spent on words
Riding on solace
Just another night

le meh

Who am I to you or anyone?

No one.

Kochira wa Geinin.

we all play parts in the greatest play
parts we often choose
but more often than not
just happen to fall into.
it's not so easy to walk away
to pretend we never wanted them
being a savior
a lover
a simple person
or even that one to take care of you
because sometimes we need to be
in charge of something
even if it's just playing our part right.
congregations of actors
all meet on the stage
and life begins a new
each and every day
listen closely
and sometimes you can catch
the slip of a line here and there
not every play is perfect
but when it is some call it fate.
I tried to play a part once or twice
but my co-stars never seem to get it right
flawed that I am
it must rub off on them
or at least it seems to.
I will never know the truth of the matter
for they are elsewhere now
on another chapter
reading another line
to someone who is playing a part
willing to be that one
who makes believe
without missing a beat
on the stage of life.

Burnt Marshmallow

"Wretched night" are the words that escape his lips. Walking through the back alleys of the town, garbage lines the side of the buildings, some of it is made up like homes for the indigents and lost. Each step gets heavier and heavier with the passing of time, he needs his fix. Finally at his destination, a man in baggy clothes and baseball cap with shinny stickers on it looks him over.

"What will it be?" He knows his costumers by the visage of death drawn upon their beings.

"I just need the usual... It's been a long night." A stack of singles and fives is passed from one to the other, and as soon as it is counted a bag containing tiny blue pills is exchanged.

"See you soon."

----

When he gets back to his apartment she is waiting on the dirty old couch, a thing full of smells and stains that remark the past 2 years as if they'd been decades. Her thin lips are dry and chalked, a crust under her nose and bags under the eyes makes it hard to remember what she looked like before it all started. He puts his coat on the back of the door, and crunching past plastic cups and caps that litter the hallway he scratches at his head. Thin arms and even thinner wrists still manage to gather the tools of their addiction. Straws, tin foil, and a couple of lighters of which he can't recall if they are dead or not.

"What took so long?" she asks as her head wobbles, trying to sit up. He makes room for himself on the edge of the couch as he clears some of the table by tossing a heap of garbage to the floor.

"I was just thinking, maybe we ought to get out of here soon. I mean, like... get out of here, this town, start new somewhere else." He opens the baggie and takes two pills out, rips two pieces of tinfoil, and passes one of each to her. She grabs a straw and lighter just as he does and places the pill on the metallic surface. With the straw in her mouth she begins to burn the underside of the tinfoil, a smoldering crackling is emitted from the pill as it heats up and starts to smoke, she suctions the white smoke as the smell of burnt marshmallow fills the room. He follows suit.

As the pill melts, it moves on the tinfoil, making a dark spiral as it travels on the surface of the heated metal. Their lungs absorbing the opiate and eyes widening, this is what their life has become. After two more pills they lay back and hold one another.

"I think it would be a good idea." Her hair is oily from lack of washing, she tucks it behind her ears. Pimples are sprouting like mountains across her unwashed face. When was the last time they washed? They can't remember, the bathroom is only used to defecate once every couple of days, and maybe to throw up in more often than anything else. The shower is seldom used. "I'm tired of this place, the people are horrible."

Sustaining his head like a helium balloon that has grown too heavy, he comes in and out of consciousnesses unable to talk. They both fall asleep on the couch.

-----

Sunlight. It's warmth is heating up their faces, it awakens him. She's still asleep. Getting up he feels his bones crack, falling asleep on the couch is no good for them, but he doesn't notice after a fix or two. Once in the kitchen he pours himself some water in a cup that's been sitting by the sink for who knows how many days, weeks even. After gulping it down he opens the fridge to find it empty. The last of the food stamp money had been spent on their current stash, selling them had become yet another habit meant to sustain their addiction. He serves more water and drinks it down.

Sitting on the couch he sets up another piece of tinfoil, the roll is still new and has quite a bit of the shinny paper on it. He shakes the lighter to make sure it's still got fuel, placing another pill on top he lights up. She awakens as he blows smoke on her face.

"What... oh... here..." she grabs for the paper and straw as he lights it for her. This is how every morning is spent.

"We need more money, we'll be out by tonight." His voice shakes a little, she knows what he meas.

"Alright, I'll call Hue. I'm sure he could use some release." She inhales, and holds it. Again, burnt marshmallows fill the air.

-----

She's dressed up, unshowered, but dressed up. Her skinny legs are nothing like they used to be. Once upon a time she ran every morning before going to work at the restaurant, her figure was envied, her beauty was obscene. Every man wanted her, and she knew it. Now she's just another corpse walking the street.

"Hue is coming soon, you'll have to go wait outside. Can you head over to John's and see if he can hook us up with some pot? Tell him he can come by for the money later." She's applying lipstick to her chapped lips, a bit of eye shadow, and some flush takes away the look of death. She almost looks normal, but there is something about addiction you can never hide.

"Alright." It's all he says. He gets up and walks to the door, grabs his jacket and just as he's about to close the door she says to him:

"I love you!"

"I love you too babe... call John's when you are done." He walks down the stairs and runs into Hue, he's a tall blonde man, wearing glasses as usual. He's married, but likes to get his kicks elsewhere just like everyone else. He's never asked her just what he does that he has to go somewhere else to find it besides home, he doesn't care. Hue doesn't know who he is.

-----

John's house is five minutes from the apartment, it is an old house filled with old newspapers and an array of stuff which could be easily thrown out, but John just can't seem to part with it. It reminds him of his parent's, he says. They saved all of this stuff, and now it just happened to be his watch over it, having them both gone this was the only thing they'd left behind. A house full of garbage. He knocks on the door.

"Come on in!" John screams from within. Opening the door with his think fingers, he hears the rustling of the dog as it's running towards the door. It's an old pit bull with barely any teeth left, a very lovable old dog.

"So what's up?" John is rolling a blunt, he always has pot.

"Not much, Lucy is working a job so I thought I'd come by."

"I see..." He knew what this meant, but didn't say anything. Lucy wasn't a stranger to him by any means, even shut in pot heads need to get their rocks off every once in a while.

"Hey, do you think you can front us some of that pot? Lucy will have the money for you tonight, you can just come back with me and she'll have it for you."

"Alright, not a problem." Lighting the blunt makes the room fill with smoke almost instantly, maybe it wouldn't happen so fast if there wasn't so much shit in there, air circulation might be better, but tell that to John, he'd only say that it's his house and he'll do as he pleases. He's right though, no one should be telling someone how to live their lives.

-----

The phone rings, it's Lucy.

"Yeah, I'm all done over here, you guys can come through if you want."

"Sure, we'll be right there."

-----

She's back in her regular clothes, her face is still flushed even though there is no make up on it. Her lipstick is a bit smeared, and her hair looks kind of clumpy. She's smoking a pill as the two of them walk into the living room, seems like Hue left her a tip, there is a bag with a nice stash of pills by her side of the table. This is good, he wont have to go out tonight to re up. John takes a seat on a metal chair across from them, tossing a baggie of pot on the table.

"Twenty five please."

"Here you go." She puts down her utensils and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills. He accepts the money and pulls out a pre rolled joint, lighting it he winks at her and she smiles.

"So what is up for tonight?" John takes a couple of puffs and passes the joint to Lucy.

"Oh I don't know, thinking we are going to stay in and maybe watch some Fifth Element." Her voice seems raspy, maybe it's all the smoking.

"I was thinking we could get some groceries, the fridge is kind of empty." He takes the joint from Lucy and inhales a large hit, coughing as if his lungs were trying to escape years of torture and abuse.

"Easy old man, you can't take those big hits with this stuff." John takes the joint from him and puffs at it. "I can give you guys a ride to the market if you need, I could use some supplies myself."

"Sounds good, now that we have a little bit of cash it sounds like a good idea." She lights the tinfoil, and sucks in more of the burnt marshmallow.

-----

It's been three days since Hue came around, and they needed more money. Lucy went to walk the streets for a little while, he stayed at home trying to figure out who he could rob and how to make a quick buck.

Lucy comes in a couple of hours later, her dress is a bit ripped, and there is something dripping from between her legs. She doesn't say anything as she passes by him on the couch, she throws a wad of bills on the table and heads straight to the bathroom. He hears the shower go on. He grabs one of the last pills and lights it up.

"Hey, Steve!" She screams from the shower. "Can you head down to T's and pick up some more blues?"

"Sure thing babe."

-----

The alley hasn't changed much, a couple of bums are fighting over the contents of a garbage can as he passes them, they don't even notice him. Shadows seem to elongate and compress, the wind is blowing and there is little to no fresh smell, it's a stink of decay that seems to linger in the inner city. Shivering from the cold he crosses to the other side of the alley where T is usually hanging out this time of night, but he's not there. Instead there is another dealer, he's seen him before. Tall and dark, with an over sized coat on, gold teeth, and a fuck you look to him.

"What you need boy?"

"Umm... where is T?"

"He ain't here... now you need somethin' or not?"

"Yeah, I need two hundred worth..."

"Aight..." He reaches in his jacket and pulls out 4 baggies, each with 5 pills in it.

"Cool cool..." He hands the money and takes the bags. "Catch you around."

"Yeah, whatever."

-----

Back in the apartment she's smoking the last pill from the last stash. There are a few bills left on the table, and the aluminum roll is growing thin. He walks in and plops next to her, setting the bags of pills on the table as he does so.

"We really need to get out of here..." He says, but just as he does she kisses him and exhales into his mouth. The hit makes him feel light headed, he forgets what he was talking about.

"You just need some more of this..." She rips some foil for him, opens a baggie, and sets up a fix for him. "Come on, smoke some and fuck me."

He get's high, he doesn't fuck her, his dick can't get up after he smokes the pills. They both pass out on the couch as the sun begins to rise on the horizon.

Sweet Lovely...

It's all so abnormal
the way we go through life
in our air conditioned vehicles
with our cellophane sex
barely talking to each other
like we were a million miles
apart, yet our skin touches
and our stink commingles.

I tried to love once or twice
it fell on my lap
much the way it usually does
and every time it managed to
be squandered by the corrosion
of time and space
triangles often do that.

Antiseptic dreams
clean and coordinated
like the dance of a dying race
we beat the drums of war
love and sadness
to the rhythmic procession
of hearts left behind to spoil.

Can you imagine
for just one second
what life would be like
if we all just said fuck it
and started to talk
and walk
and listen to one another
towards one another
and made the strides
to make a difference in our own
and each others lives?

I can't
I've been locked in too long
kept inside my wrapper
I know not freedom
I feel little but the air
as it rustles against my plastic prison
the medicine numbs everything else
and my mind plagues me with one thought
over and over and over and over again

When will I feel that soft caress?

Construction Ahead

Continue on

and don't give two damns

life often fringes on death

after all it wouldn't be life.

Fighting for survival

on a rainbow road

made of multicolored dreams

smashed to bits and pieces

all you can say is

wow.

It's not so easy when the past

catches up to you

and the lovers that keep hiding

inside of your head come up

for air.

Light glares off the gravel

coloring the walls of the houses

as you pass by each one

and it makes you wonder

about the could and should have been's.

Like a pilot light that's blown out

that let's the whole place fill up

with gaseous emissions

just waiting for that one spark

to blow everything up.

So is my mind

heart

soul

waiting for that one

who will make everything light up

blowing up the walls

and the pre built concepts

of reality.

This rainbow road can take you

anywhere you want to be.

Built from smashed dreams

it makes you wonder just how far

you can really walk before you decide

that it's time to settle down

and take a sip of wine

to numb out the pain

the sway

forget about the sores on your feet.

Still I wander through the streets

headlights lighting the way

to an unknown

yet yearned for tomorrow.

It's all about the story

the trip taken

the slow moments that make it worth while

like a woman's scent as she holds you tight

or her whispering words of beauty

promises often broken

it's all momentary and fleeting.

All meant to ignite some sort of reaction

erection

confessions of the heart.

I've hold her tight several times

my muse

but more often than never

I must let her go

to be free

for I am not a cage

although I am a caged

animal

on a rainbow road

made of smashed dreams.

Incompetence kills

come around and show
the colors hidden under
intricate plumage.

friendship can be tough
when all they want
is to steal your light.

she wont admit it
but it's about time
that she brought with her

change of seasons
change of clothes
change of mindlessness

contradicting what is thought
continuing to expand
capillaries on the skin

she says she's afraid
she says she doesn't care
yet I am the only one

with heart ache
a flooded mind
aches in my stomach

but it's all right
nothing new here
just like a rerun

of an old television show
where the antagonists
keep showing up

and I ask myself
when will life change?
well my dear friend

seems like never
seems like always
seems like your change

is bound to come
but not yet
concrete is heavy

shoes are filled with it
sink into the waters
of what could and should have been.

Fleeting?

If love is fleeting
then why does it stick
like shag carpet
to a strip of Velcro
every time
it comes around?

Like the time
that I fell for my
tequila queen
She still hounds dreams
and imagination.

Now I've felt the wind of
falling face first
onto the floor of emotion
but I keep catching
myself just as I'm about
to bust my face on the
linoleum.

Because I don't want a ghost
of a woman
to haunt me anymore.
Because there is no feeling
like no feeling at all.
It is peace.

I awaken from a dream of you into a nightmare of sorts.

Since I last wrote two people have passed away due to drug overdose. This synthetic heroin is killing people. 3 weeks ago it was a woman in her mid to late twenties, I didn't really know her but I had met her on a few occasions, a passing face one can say. I did know her reputation though, and as sad as it was it's hard not to say that we all saw that one coming. Latest addition to the count was three days ago. Brother of a childhood friend, cousin of an old old friend. Passed away much too young, 21 years too young.

That was my news this morning, as I woke up from a dream with you again, sour girl. This time it was a bit different. We lay under a tree next to a lake, not together but with one another. Streams of air passing through the branches and leafs, I could see them as they made their way over the water up to us. Red was all over, and the roots of the tree which stretched out under us like protruding veins which softly dug into us. You spoke to me, told me that I deserved so much better and that life would give to me that which I worked for. Your voice resonated against me, a feeling which now in my waking life I miss. Hell, I miss everything about the dream, your eyes, your smile, the warmth of you. As quickly as the dream began, it ended. You disappeared off the face of the earth, much like you did in real life. Then I woke up, and received a call about a friend, who 21 years too young passed away from heroin overdose.

I hate it when things like this happen, when my mind brings you out and then I'm reminded as to why I made the effort to push you away. Well, I want one thing from life, and that is my peace with you, a sober from heroin you.

Internet bares fruit of knowledge

I wish I had seen this earlier in my life.

Excuses are cheap

I'm achy but feeling a lot better. I am reminded of something someone once said to me:

"what i meant by saying you need to be more of an asshole, is that you are already too lovable, floating along, so you, like me, are a bit of a doormat. people take advantage, and we both think people have good intentions. when in the end, it is not the case, so by standing up, saying no sometimes, putting your foot down, thats what i mean by being more of an asshole. kinda being facetious, cos it seems that only assholes and douchebags, those that unfairly compete for life's resources, are the ones that make it. hence, if we become more like assholes, maybe we will run amok and can start driving hummers and make soap outta our lipo and tit jobs." - Anon

How right they were. I am sometimes lost in so many thoughts that I forget about this, and this is the most important part of it all. Damn it, I hate it when you are right.

On SourGirls' and their need to numb away the pain.

Drugs have done all sort of things in my life. Above all it has made me realize that feeling is more important than anything, even if it does hurt, even if it does pain my soul. It's much better than being some zombie that doesn't feel a thing. My emotions make sense, they are there for a reason. I will always remember SourGirl telling me "why do you have to tell people how you feel? Keep that to yourself." Well, because it made sense. Because it was reality, it was something tangible in a world full of lost and confused souls. I wont deny myself feeling again. You, SourGirl, numbed yourself in order to not feel the pain of a past love, or something. Stop pushing it on others, just because you didn't want to feel SHIT, doesn't mean others deserve/need to be as miserable as you. I'd rather feel sad, happy, anything at all. Because it's these things that make us feel ALIVE. These are just some of the things that I've learned.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Respect

Where has it gone? Who has it anymore? I for one do not understand where I went wrong, or if I event went wrong at all.

Get a call from a girl, whom I fancy, and she wants to hang out! I'm like "swell, of course I'll hang out!" So she meets me at her friends house, where I meet some pretty ok people. From there, we chat, we all go through our motions and our arbitrary conversations where we get to know one another. Things seem very well.

Suddenly, a group of people show up delivering the blues... not the music, but the substance that South Florida seems to be so infatuated with. She changes. She starts talking to their driver, and begins to ask me if I can score some pot for her. Sure, I say. I try, but come up dry. "Oh, I have some at home, we can just go pick it up real quick..." He says.

About an hour passes. A twenty minute thing has turned into much longer. I don't know what to think, I'm tired of just chatting it up with people whom I don't know. I'm done. I pick up my shit, and leave.

She wanted to spend the night, so she says. She wanted to hang out and talk, so she says. Then why leave me with a group of total strangers as you go off ridding with some schmuck. I don't get it. No respect, as a great comedian once put it. No fucking respect.

Don't tell me you want to hang out, then leave me to go "chill" with someone else. Don't tell me you wanted to be with me, when you leave me for some guy who just turned up. What am I, chopped liver? I just don't get it.

There is no respect left, there is no real understanding of people left. It's only garbage, or so it seems. Bob Dylan once said something along the lines of send me someone who is not a fucked up person, and I will give my life to you. How right he is, to this day.

What happened to respect.

Late night thoughts after a night of drinking.

Tonight I was hanging out with some good friends, had a really good time. Had a chance to see life from a different perspective, and it was good. Yeah, thats kind of cookie cutter, but hell... if I told you everything then there wouldn't be any mystery!

I did learn something tonight though, and that is to not let things get to you. Because no matter what happens, there is always something different going on.

I shouldn't let stupid medial bullshit get to me as much as I do. It's silly, really. Something I can always count on is the fact that life will change, no matter what. I wish things could have been different in the past, but these things happened for a reason. Whether it was to teach me or them, they happened. It's just learning to let them be that is the hard part.

Life is wacky, and there is nothing that one can do about it.


I hope soon I'll have something more to write about. I've been thinking about the things that go in the world around me, and I want to write about them. I will, whether it's one thing or another, I will. Because our world is a strange place, and very strange things happen. This is why I wanted to be a journalist anyhow, to explore the world around me and make a note of it, in order of future generations to understand and exploit, so that they may know what the world is like, and know what to do and not to do.

On that note, I leave you.