Okay, so as exotic as I'm getting with my current dispatch locale is west west West Kendall: the farthest outpost on the westerly lanes of this here town. The magic of the Magic City admittedly dies out somewhere after you cross Galloway, but shit, they got humans out here and they don't shoot the horses. So the suicide assembles tonight for shenanigans with friends... summer of love style. While the phoenix has surely decided to give it a rest with its renewal ritual, we will still make a good go at ending something tonight: The Past. Not the all-inclusive past, but a specific strand of past that rears its ugly head so often and churns the inners of my close friend. Tonight The Past will lose its life-blood on our blades. If you happen to walk the line downtown, let that "bystander effect" guide you, while the memory saddens me (as she was a good-looking broad), let The Past be your guiltless Kitty Genovese. Be one of the thirty-eight. Be one to acknowledge that some things just need to die. Be one to assist the assister with a drink or two.
Somehow this made more sense when it coursed through my system -- but again, la cascarita de caña que se ha equilibrado en mi cerebro, was wrestling with modern thoughts on pirates, corsairs, buccaneers, the Barbary coast, and Malta. Shee-it, I'm just one man.
I like this record label a lot, click away with your Visa, Amex, MC, Diners, and Discovery friends!
http://www.home-tapes.com/
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