Although I've never been a fan of foreign touch, seas of person pull me under with a swaying current. Escape your head,crawl out of your mind,temporal lobe knows what's best right now. Outside Los Angeles is itching to start her nightly routine of traffic cars lights photographs heartbeats and the floating of that contradictory human seraphim induced by It Girl and methylenedioxymethamphetamine alike. Inside I am sheltered with my altar to worship at, congregation chanting holy hymns of love and sex and youth along side me. Earthquake percussion shakes my core, or is that just nasty San Andreas? The serotonin flows freely, the dopamine flows freely, all whilst avoiding dark alleyway illegal conversation. Smoke drifts through the room hitting the walls and dissipating around the human masses just as the music does. holy is this place, holy is this patchwork nirvana, holy is this Mecca.
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