Lake’s edge
In a puff—
A palace:
To me westwardly my iPhone. I check it. Spun in mist a mix by Russian mystery man AL-90, reposted on my SoundCloud feed by BEER ON THE RUG, my fav, my love. The BOCCARA series Mix 27 starts slow, incorporating several strange late-70s-ish rock tunes — perhaps from Scotland or New Zealand, I’m only guessing here — before we enter the scratched surface of the empty stage of the social, and an EDM groove gets going. I feel as if I am in a dim diamond, spinning and twirling betwixt two rainbows, gyrating and spazzing out, cannonballing into urbanity’s secret virulence while my ego grapples with itself as an enemy — my known enemy, my wild little cowboy, my ancient Egyptian God, my nazar. Like getting off on a subway in a part of the city that you’ve never been before. Like sibylline utterances, obnubilated by bass frequencies:
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