Birthday Report.

Detroit was a snowy place last Saturday, though it was the warmest night I'd seen. It was lonely I will admit but eventually I came to and was surrounded with costumed villains willing to serve my every passing false hedonistic need. For some reason there are invisible hands fondling me, and through this haze I can barely see. I can see enough to know that I better not touch the floor for fear I many never recover. I came here with somebody, I think.... What is this abhorrent taste trickling slowly lingering down my throat. Where is my shoe. This massive throbbing box is emmitting music that is sonically forcibly raping my ears, and I adore it. Black. Again with the fondling though the hands seem clearer. This is ending soon, I can tell as the music has slowed to a syrupy sultry crawl back to it's source. The well hath run dry and the gate keeps scream billow beckon and yell that the world is coming to an end, nobody seems to listen. The unlikely snow is falling once more as I head wildly north. The storm missed me somehow. As I find warmth is the soft known comforts the life has afforded, I understand and appreciate what is about to happen...