Journal

[Dual]

Shocked by a line of the purest coke Escobar himself could muster, the day began anew at half past two. There were things to see, people to do, and Colombian snow paves the way like none other. Brevitic instant later, the full and blistering heat of the Angelite summer washes over me. A stagger. Composure regained. I couldn't afford to stall; the Mescaline and Oxycontin in my pocket beckoned me. East. South. East again! Miles pass, but I feel yards. The homeless man glares ever on; he wants change for food. The liquor store's right behind his broken, ancient figure. Every day I see the same man, and he sees me. We know each other, he and I.

 

[Dual]

This world is old; this reality is new. Created anew. Renewed. Regenerating. Snort another line. It has become an addiction; a need. Without, I shall slow and perish. Another line. And another. Another. Old Ouranos darkens above as Hecate's reign begins. People change at night; the nocturne speaks to something ancient in their souls.