A comrade and I disclosed ideas of civilizations. Great societies with rulers and followers going through their humanly routines, not even children, not even born.

The City Within, between our legs that suffer nightly disasters and survive to rebuild. Inner-Space Cities of the Monolith, The Great City of Atlantis where men are like ghosts with tails and round heads screaming 'EX!,'� and 'WHY?,'� right before they swim their final dance, looking for the Great Orb of Life in the Tomb of Enchantment, which is only relative as I've heard it also spoken of as the Tomb of Despair.

These men, like worker bees or army ants, travel in frantic fury, searching for fluid hope to flow from unborn drone to creative living lover. The cities they nightly rebuild are all in vain, in veins that break and fill with blood and flood like hurricane rushes while creation starts again amongst the dead.

So sad, the soldiers that find themselves amidst the barren desert, miles wide, of their glossy centerfold doom. Some sadistic tease where they see their target in high resolution and despite their will are unable to penetrate the beginnings of their task. So sad, the martyrs lost amidst computer screens and keyboards and sofas and apple pies, who died hopelessly in their futile mission after the hundredth stroke of their great lusting god. The man with the pen who can't hold on.

We drank our coffee and went for a drive. At night I ruin cities. ;)

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