So fuckin freakin hot, beyond belief.
I no longer can´t differ the rusty chirr of the cricket´s army from the sustained squeak of the lamely wings of the fan, differ with a cognitive ability.
The raising air weakens after some sort of spirals in the nowhere right beyond the fountain.
I don´t know how to lie.
I don´t feel like lying, more like a fly trapped in glue.
Thinking about the evening, desire the breeze of cooling, leaving pulverulent sand trickling through the hair coated back.
Left-behind a far-off tone of froth.
Even this tone sounds like a red booming metal machine. Merciless blast of a furnace.
It´s all flowing. Creeping. Melting.
I am adopting things around my body, getting touched by.
Sand. Sheet. Pillow. A peace of peanut´s wrapping.
Awakening up as a salted Golem.
It´s wonderful and melty, not wonderful melty.
00:38.
The sand is perfect for peeling the mosquito bites on the sheet.
In the bungalow next door a women is puking.
Maybe hot steam.
Puking in this heat. Jesus. You haven’t the faintest idea!
00:40.
And nothing more.
Just how it is.
Awaiting less…
Dumb froth.
Is it possible to fuck in salty water?
On the mattress, won´t work out. You find yourself in a kind of leaking waterbed.
Sometimes it´s best to be alone.
Sweating.
Just sweating.
Sweat in Sweat out.
Why i didn´t got myself drunken again. I would have a sleep now. No dreaming. Just sleeping.
Tomorrow the whole will have been soaked by the sheet. Including myself. Like the night the froth.
Where is daylight, i wanna get a bottle of Sang Som.
00:53.
No sex. No beer.
Women puking next door.
That´s my world!
I think it´s a pretty steamy one.
