The Magic Pocket.

As the Fog begins to clear, my obsession decreases. For the hard labour makes jolly thuoghts tremble and I find myself bleak in comparison. We have been enjoying the bong for days and my lighters has turned dry. The consumation of drugs has turned my brain grey and soggy. But I enjoy the afternoon, it is filled with laughter and love. After a day as a paid slave it is nice to gather around the mau and relax, play pool and smile. The fog puts me into the magic pocket where everything is possible, but as the smoke gets thinner I lose my narcicism and my feelings of being something mor than myself. The pain of losing dear old friends manifests itself, deep inside the thick and dreamy smoke. The fog of pleasure and pain has showed me it's real face, but there is no break on the train where I'm going...

Days of Love and Hate

Yesterday was a fucking blaze, thoughts disappeared and stuff vanished. Lighter, papers and my sanity got lost in the storm. Caught in poolgame between love and hate, I carry a smile not too wide. The eyes of a stranger makes my world spin and troubles just fly away. I have never experienced that kind of joy when losing, the lack of bitternes amazed me. The bird on the wire makes sounds of the atmosphere, a banana was trown. It feels as if I'm gonna explode at any moment, enporphines and happiness are just pulsating through my body and soul. And the girl with the smile of a thousand suns moves me in a spectacular way, I can't help but feel hopefull. But in the aftermath nothing good can come of this. I have to surpress myself, constrain, restrain, like a beast rocking the bars of it's cage. I cant't say that I've ever felt so free and so trapped in the same day. Because of funny french words I am very confused, they bend my perception of time and space.

Birth of Bong.

Silly jokes were tossed across the table as the bong was built. The smiles of my new friends made my misery crumble, I laughed as they took the first hit. The expression on her face gave me chills when she spoke about common intrests and his laughter carried the tone of total oblivion. Charmic relations in a quiet and sleepy town, the course of the journey is uncertain.

The French Joker.

When falling down a solid staircase made of love and decay, you can'thelp but feel a little sting. The girl with golden curls is no longer whitin my grasp, a boy with chestnut hair is sitting by her side. They are in the beginning stages of affection, the hunt, the thrill. I wouldn't know anything about that, cause I'm on the sidelines watching them play. But there is a french guy who lightens the load of being strange, his attitude to trip still uknown, amazes me. Be whoever you want, whenever you want.

In love in Australia.

Weed is the medicine for the one who is starving for love, the cure for loneliness. I can feel my mind drying up inside when the hour gets too long and people around you are fuckheads. It feels as if you need to take a shit, but nothing comes to mind.

The man from the Bush.

There is something growing inside of me, I have felt it for a long time. It's just like suttle screams inside my head, every time I feel really good. They want to come out, my vicious demons. I know they will grow on me, cause the worst part is, I kinda like it. The man from Perth spoke with harsh words, I know there was a boy inside the man, but his voice seemed sa uninspired. And by the end of the day, you start to fear such a man. Cause he hasn't got the capacity to carry my visions. But there is something growing inside of me, implosions of joy and anger pulsate through my very being. It is the feeling I get when life is really trowing me some bones. The feeling that disappears whenever I interact. That person may not be seen nor heard, cause he is a danger to his surroundings. Now I have to go to sleep in a dark room filled to the brim with stupid people. All I need is the connection, I will supply the reception.

The Scotish Liar.

It's cold and it's dark, troubles on the bend, brewing in the distance and without confidence I stare into the void of my existance. There is no telling of what's going to happen, but my mind continues to shrink when men become strong. I have nothing to say, nothing to do, but to take on the cheek.

The girl is a lie better afforded by those who chose to stay cold, the grim and the wicked. Everytime I get emotionally raped, I'm one step closer to giving up. But I won't, I will not settle for being the man who wasn't there.

I realize, I'm rambling. There is much more to this story than my pathetic selfesteem. There is an underlying truth to be told, in a story only meant for those with big hearts.