If you doubt there’s real evil in the world
try gluten-free pizza - it’s a super low-value experience
imagine something criminal, like pizza on a *******
Which highlights the problematic nature of live-forever nutrition.
Who’d want to live forever - if that’s what you had to eat?
Ok let’s wax poetic..
Our night of Friday unfolded against a black background
for the thinning wind-moon was a coin already spent.
Oh, it still hung sharp in orbit and still called to obedient waters,
and, when it could, it patterned the trees and hills with a pale spectral light,
but lovers, who unwisely looked to it as a heavenly witness of their love - mere hours ago - had to admit that the unearthly lampion, was unshapely shrinking behind the silver edged clouds.
Ask not for the night to answer for day or even ever-constant stay
for the moon is but a brief pulse, an intermittent flashlight on night’s black velvet.
Wax off…
Peter and I reserve Friday nights for getting stupid. We’re developing regular urban nightlife haunts - like the Gate club and Palais Maillot.
But if you go, book ahead and plan on paying extra for a VIP zone or the mezzanine, otherwise - god - you’ll end up in the thrashing mob - and you can order-in food in VIP areas.
This will sound crazy - and I don’t know why - but jammed, swirling-lazer-lit clubs make me think of human trafficking - I’d never go to a club alone.
.
.
A song for this:
Daft Punk Is Playing at My House by LCD Soundsystem
The Moon Cave (feat. Asha Puthli) by Gorillaz
mangetout (The Dare remix) by Wet Leg. [E]
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 11:08 PM UTC
If you doubt there’s real evil in the world
try gluten-free pizza - it’s a super low-value experience
imagine something criminal, like pizza on a *******
Which highlights the problematic nature of live-forever nutrition.
Who’d want to live forever - if that’s what you had to eat?
Ok let’s wax poetic..
Our night of Friday unfolded against a black background
for the thinning wind-moon was a coin already spent.
Oh, it still hung sharp in orbit and still called to obedient waters,
and, when it could, it patterned the trees and hills with a pale spectral light,
but lovers, who unwisely looked to it as a heavenly witness of their love - mere hours ago - had to admit that the unearthly lampion, was unshapely shrinking behind the silver edged clouds.
Ask not for the night to answer for day or even ever-constant stay
for the moon is but a brief pulse, an intermittent flashlight on night’s black velvet.
Wax off…
Peter and I reserve Friday nights for getting stupid. We’re developing regular urban nightlife haunts - like the Gate club and Palais Maillot.
But if you go, book ahead and plan on paying extra for a VIP zone or the mezzanine, otherwise - god - you’ll end up in the thrashing mob - and you can order-in food in VIP areas.
This will sound crazy - and I don’t know why - but jammed, swirling-lazer-lit clubs make me think of human trafficking - I’d never go to a club alone.
.
.
A song for this:
Daft Punk Is Playing at My House by LCD Soundsystem
The Moon Cave (feat. Asha Puthli) by Gorillaz
mangetout (The Dare remix) by Wet Leg. [E]
