Where do I begin...on the heels of Rimbaud moving like a dancing bullet thru
the secret streets of a hot New Jersey night filled with venom and wonder. Meeting the Queen Angel in the reeds of Babylon
and then to the fountain of sorrow to drift away in the hot mass of the deluge... To sing praise to the King of those dead
streets, to grasp and let go in a heavenly way -- streaming into the lost belly of civilization at a standstill. Romance is
taking over. Tolstoy was right. These notes are being written in a bathtub in Maine under ideal conditions, in every Curio
Lounge from Brooklyn to Guam, from Lowell to Durango oh sister, when I fall into your spacy arms, can not ya feel the weight
of oblivion and the songs of redemption on your backside we surface alongside miles standish and take the rock. We have relations
in Mozambique. I have a brother or two and a whole lot of karma to burn... Isis and the moon shine on me. When Rubin gets
out of jail, we celebrate in the historical parking lot in sunburned California...
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