As your hand performs the motion where the fag leaves your mouth, an almost opaque smoke leaves the orifice, and while it is hard to see trough the middle, on the edges it is thin enough to see him tied up on the ground, powerless, speechless as xe knows what's coming next, you both do, as you pass xim the fag,
> one last time old friend
as it falls out of xis mouth, you begin the motion, the muscles going from the hip to the thigh activate, and then,
*DOWN*
DOWN UP DOWN UP DOWN UP FUCKING BASTARD DIE DIE DIE!!! god I hate you, you are my best friend, my boyfriend, my arch nemesis and here I am, standing in a puddle, tainting your right shoe, a beautiful traditionally handcrafted leather piece... now forever marked with the paint of what once was - /

you lean back against the tower, corpses of beautiful machines going up whole stories /to tell/ people in front of you are dancing to the brand new music, sounds of wolfs tearing flesh apart, screams recorded by serial killers, the heart pounding in the washing machine, all in it's pure electronic glory, sped up, extra reverb, vocals stolen straight from your chords / it's so loud out there, so much so it makes you a bit nauseous, like the invisible cloud looming over the yard , from all the cylinders leaking bleaking , the rainbow liquid streams down a valley like a river and it forms a constellation of a dozen or so lakes , my father used to call it clown puke, it's gas , but to us it's the dance floor - where moves you've never even seen before are done, sequencing poses like a museum, everyone here is a marble statue, built by the romans or the greeks maybe, perfectly sculpted - and yet under the cloth is nothing but scars, gore and what seems to be hard rock, dripping and mixing with the puke

A sight

the dance is pretty simple here, take a partner , anyone really and fucking punch them, hit them in the fucking face until they bleed, hold them down, strangle them, stop the movement and start a machine, kick them down into the fucking critical race theory box / shattered it's face is and yet a new one is about to be introduced, you grab the stranger by the shoulders and immediatelly he (?) is rammed trough - now inside, you can start the program - Good morning everyone, here are the news for tonight - - ON! O BZZZZT BZZT you can hear him screaming, hitting the walls and bleeding - don't stop the dance is not over , your partner is sporradicaly moving, god it's so fucking cool look at him go , it's a whole electric feel and, as long as it's on, the dance can't stop, beautiful, trough art you are the first person to ever create a perpetual motion machine, you think to yourself.

the result of the dance

You might be satisfied by your creation but the tire iron sure isn't, it's quite the surprise knowing you just became a painting once you taste the clown piss on the ground, here it acts, it's a mirror, as distorted as it might be -

it's you

it's you. Can you see it? or do you not recognize yourself, between the blood dripping down slowly obscuring the view and the concussion you just got I'm not sure, it fucking hurts so bad but also god is it hot, god is it beautiful, a sight to behold, maybe you've never had sex but this clearly is way better , adrenaline pumping in as red cells pump out, in / out / in / out , its kind of like a computer machine - and DIRECTLY into the puddle you find yourself / you cant get up, and looking up all you can see is a man, well dressed, a tailored three piece, black and white, with a tie you've never seen, colourful maybe? it looks like patchwork, and already, he passes you the fag, one last time, and then

*DOWN*