Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix, "Love's SCREAM!"
So SLEEP, perchance to DWEEM, perchance to SCREAM, an Edvard MUNCH epiphany, that wrestled-thought, OILED, gripping, lunging, crowd-roaring, Gladiatorial, Death or Victory? A FUCK YOU for your mindless-INFINITY, where, possibly, U belong?
So SLEEP, your WOES, your Victories, your conquests, your "fashions", your insecticides that banished socialite-Un-worthies? Who but GOD cares for your SOUL? Who covets, the Devils within U roils? And as for your dressmaker, your chaperone, that KISS; a Taxi to the OPERA, an aria in the mist?
So SLEEP, I must make an appointment. A rendezvous. I must SLASH my wrists, paint blood on Church-walls. A RIVER in which to drown, a furnace in which to burn. A life LIVED without Love stumbles into anonymity, invisible; so best sleep, those who can. Love's SCREAM, inaudible, for now from ear to ear.
c.davedelacroix
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