draveluob adevlupes

it couldn't be found in the files where it had undoubtedly been stored. just a band, hidden, kept behind an invisible screen until it was needed. just a band, known, and planted. for had it been marinating with me all along, the shock of euphoric audio might not be present. fitting, the content written immaculately, rhythmic prose which roll off the tongue intertwined with sincerity and some strange familiarity, upon which no finger can be placed.

st. augustine seems to shout at me, despite her slow lullaby-like melody. st. augustine acts as a nurturing mother, concurrently loving and correcting, rewarding and chastising. she brushes the sand away from the path which lies before me, she gives me a shove, and she lines those los angeles freeways with gold in preparation for my arrival.

the city lights sparkle that night; a billion fireflies against the midnight sky, and i'm flying, simply flying at ninety-five miles per hour down pacific coast highway, route 1, where earth meets ocean, where the weak are swallowed up and the strong learn to conquer the great blue beast.

sepulveda boulevard; where the gates of heaven open and i ride into some fantasy land constructed for me. sepulveda boulevard; where the inhalation of salt scented ocean water invigorates before swiftly, almost instantaneously, taking breath away.