Fever Dream

Good lord. No lord. Bombs. Dresden. Spread vulva and suicide. The band, not the act. Stick your fingers in and look at me. Flick your hair from your eyes and hold my gaze. Let me see my childhood, and let me see centuries gone and the wonders of the ancient world before they crumbled and disappeared like spiders down the plughole. Let me watch as history repeats and the universe crunches us back together again the way a cruel hand squeezes the life out of a small animal that once danced in a forest the same as we did before the chains came and reigned us in. Give me those fingers, and stick them in my mouth. Pinch my tongue, and turn me on until I’m too drunk to fuck. That’s a Dead Kennedys song, right? Let’s listen to Squarepusher, drink white wine and play Streets of Rage together. Let’s…