Dreamt about neil last night...

Cole's thoughts, and strange poem thoughts ...to know all the foul language and exadurate each syllable like a mad rapper thinking slowly about politics, to a beat, to be fed up with politics. to know everything about Buddhism and lithium fields and not care to much for it. As fucked up as this world gets outside the deep leafed jungles... Between us and Mexico City... There's still beautiful burnt eyed gypsy child. There's still shoe gazers to be reminded of us when they finally look up. There's still cool red clayed villas waiting for us at the end of this chipped road. Clean clothes, rollies, and new culture are waiting. its what we headed out for. but to appreciate the trip there... down to the sweat and mosquitoes. makes you the poet and I'm stuck gazing at this culture's new birkenstocks.