a mobius strip

25 07 2008

this is unfinished and one of the first drafts.
meaning: this sucks and it is true

I found myself on a sustainable living farm in Punta Mona, Costa Rica, where everyone was very very drugged out – to the point of disability or inability to function. Including him. Not surprisingly so; people like us are too flaky to keep up with our friendships like the rest of the world.

It was almost painful to see him like that, zombie-like and eating hemp… literally. He was so so beautiful between relapses. Sharp features and a red pout and green almond eyes. That day on the farm he had long hair again but he was bald on top and his scalp was greasy and scabby and peeling, and he had a big brown beard somewhat resembling pubic hair and he was just laying on top of me and we were both on our backs, so I was sort of pinned down under his puff of hair. It was uncomfortable against my face, I wanted to leave but I hadn’t seen him in so long that I stayed until my limbs went numb.

He kept talking about how good the drugs were and how he’s never been better and I was just watching, somehow, and at some point his limbs started to freeze up and I finally got him off me and i look at his face and it was ugly and frozen in a distorted sneer. His lips were an ashy pink – nothing was like it used to be, between.

He used to be so striking.

At this point there was still a voice talking about how good the drugs were and then I saw his friend, who was in a similar state. All twitching then frozen and muttering and shit.

And then I saw a whole colony of people sitting in an outdoor kitchen on rows of picnic tables and they were mostly tanned women and they had little bits of purple twine in their fuzzy dull brown hair and they were all picking at something on the table in unison – scratch, scratch, scratch.

I thought to myself, “this is probably why they haven’t been online in weeks…” and then I woke up.

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