It's Such a Short Life.
i wanna throw a kick ass generator party in the broken down arena that i see in my dreams. it is a white stone ruin by the sea, with nothing and no one around for miles. i think it's california. the california in my mind. everything is green and overgrown and fragrant. silver windmills look down upon us from the gold painted horizon. spoons dripping with pure, slow cooked super potent, hashish make their way through the crowd, as folks taking turns stirring a pot filled with what looks like tar but is 10 lbs of 1st class weed boiled down to its most potent essence and slow simmered for days according to an ancient recipe revived by the legendary afro-funk superstar, fela.
one spoonful gets u high for 15 hours...a beautiful, white wave of a high that gets stronger the more water u drink, building to a meditative state in which dancing is the best thing in the world, which is good cuz im gonna be djing, throwin up some serious evening sun funk and reggae...and rock and hip hop and house and whatevers clever. we'll be out there for hours, tagging the stone and trippin out in a 'dub give thanx' mix while the sun sets over us and i realize the thing that i always realize in my dream, just as the sun is going down--that the arena is haunted and home to vampires who will be out shortly, hunting my guests...and im scurred and nervous but the vampires never come.
we just have the party and everyone has a good time.