Taste the silky blue moon juice bled from the heads of burned out dreamers mainlined on the echoes of creation.

Does this moment seem a little too sweet?

It’s because the cotton candy web of space-time was cut with sugar substitutes.

Pull long pink strings of sound from the æther and wrap it around you neck—

Like a noose?

Or maybe a scarf?

I never could keep up with that slipper beast named fashion.


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