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.
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!
And nothing more.
Just how it is.
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.
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.
No sex. No beer.
Women puking next door.
That´s my world!
I think it´s a pretty steamy one.