Oh hey, New Olé! N-O-L-A! My, my, how this city eats me alive, alcoholic iced caffeine sinks my days into night. The city is a lady waiting for me to come home from work- she knows what I like to drink. Fickle, fickle feeling, bipolar sways of N-O-L-A suit my mood like a pair of custom-made alligator skin shoes. I am a werewolf and this haunt is a silver bullet with my name on it. This shit is a cocaine-laced cigarette.

I am a fucking addict.

Shiiiit.

I can’t sleep, I’m in New Orleans, even though I can feel my synapses stop snapping, more a low hum then the cracking whip that usually snaps my mind into place. The soft percussive stroke that marks each loop of a completed record not removed from the turntable. Shit gets really real down here; I could use my rest. But my rest is sick of being used, abused and sought after only when she is needed. She’s being honest with me… I dance to dodge the beer bottles she throws at my head in angry desperation, each bursting into a million stars of glass I have to tap between ever so lightly as the next vicious wave of frenetic beer-laden nebulae fly through the air and hopefully past the gravitational circumference of my skull. SMASH! dodge. SMASH! dodge. SMASHED! again, I’m smashed again because rest has no more patience for me, I am nose against the floor hoping that rest will take my state of repose as a final sign of acquiescence, a final sense of oh god yes, I repent, or at least I relent, or more truly, I resign.

Love in the streets of Vancouver.

(Source: frauholle)

Dearest Queen Laveau,

My heart has been a tumultuous sea that spans as wide as my world of perception. I don’t come seeking advice, as I know I must risk the stinging nettles of my own broken path. However, I am afraid.

I am your daughter, generations lost and displaced in a society cacophonous with confusion. My bones have become tangled by the violent oscillations of this world, and my spirit cries everyday in pain that can only be explained by true universality. A mere synapse of existence, the messages relayed through me bring me utmost joy and despair. I feel an urgency, a prophecy that must blossom from the vines within me, even if it is my last action within this strange flesh that has been given to me.

But beautiful mother, you know all this already…

…this is my warning to you.

There’s bits and pieces of you all over America! Are you going to collect them?? Better go before someone makes a mannequin of you. There’s bits and pieces of you all over the highway! Gonna resurrect them?? Better better, it won’t be fair if someone took your hair and made a voodoo doll, a you-do doll! The rain is slapping New Orleans and no one cares! The lightning thunder clapping all over your pretty lair!! There’s bits and pieces of you!! There’s bits and pieces of you waiting to be picked up… Your chewed up nails, do you remember where you spit them?? Or clipped them… you snapped your chapped lips, and dead cells slipped away. You don’t think as you dismember, but they remember, we remember… I recollect… Connect, I collect… I sweep up what you dissect. Because if I don’t follow you with my broom, swiftly assuming the parts of you you slew, then surely you are doomed… To be swept into a not you you, your entrails placed upon a loom, spun and spun… they want to groom you like a ewe…

BURN IT DOWN (coming to a city near you…)