Don’t you know, we have to face reality or hide our heads in the sand, even if the sand is sexy as can be, sometimes it feels so good to keep our heads up and our eyes wide open to indulge with a shoot of beauty — perhaps the last legal drug on earth. No idle idea of what we are, in the end but we’re all up to a sail on a sea of love. It sounds dumb (and deaf) but who knows, every little thing of that forsaken kind may have a future. After years spent watching days, dusk and eating dust for lunch, it’s the day for horses and rides, the day we kiss the asphalt on a ballad at the end of the world. It’s all as strange as it has never been before but the shock of the new is a sort of delight that Mr Hunter S. Thompson wouldn’t refuse (who would, by the way). Stranded in the middle of a well-known nowhere, we offer ourselves a slice of forbidden feelings and enjoy it as if it was the last piece of water-melon, we die too fast and it makes us happy to live, survive and hold tight to the least of our silliest dreams. And here I find my mouth babbling alone, scrambling like the egg next door. I want to give it all up but a swollen force still pushes me and I’d like to know why. If anyone has the answer I’ll exchange it, a quick swap near the cliff. And then, and then, and now. And what. Here we are, eyes tuned with some tape on our lids. Please sing because beauty stands, lonesome and nutty but it does. Hope me too, we too. Chin of my suburbian life.