We roared through the GhostShip, America, on the big bike. It’s a great excuse for hanging on to someone with your motherfucker lives, and all your second selves, on the insides of your mouth.

Just met a boy, just met a boy when

He can come inside of my playpen

‘Cause he look like a superstar in the makin’

So I think that I’m going in for the takin’

Hear through the grapevine that he’s cakin’

We, we can shoot a movie he can do the tapin’

Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba boom boom…

More a voyage than a whore hotel. I do not know why I expected traffic. With no traffic, we could crank the speed up to a hundred miles an hour. Traveling to every summer riot in the United States. With the caveat that we took wearing masks seriously. We wore our helmets with face shields anyway. Rural America took no notice of the pandemic. It did not mean them. Until it did. We joined the group that was breaking windows. Breaking cops. Breaking curfews. Breaking rules. Breaking boners, butts, and blatant. Slipping his tongue down into my mouth. And burning, burning down the bloody house.

It was early in the morning when we made it to bed.

Homo sapien has always lived in the landscapes of post-truth, post-fiction, post-democracy, post-political abduction, post-distortion, post-viral collapse, post-science, post-self-satisfied reservation of militaristic wars on resilience. It’s strangeness that becomes the new normal. Reinventing yourself becomes the new alien balance where we cannot remain teenagers forever.

“How old are you anyway,” I asked. He handed me a joint that tasted wet with his bourbon spit.

“Eighteen.”

Omniscient divinity. 

I, I, I wanna give you one last option

I, I, I wanna give you one last chance

If, if you looking for the main attraction

Just hold on tight and let me do my dance

If you want it, I’m gonna be va va voom voom

If you got it, you got it, you got that boom boom

If you want it, I’m gonna be va va voom voom

If you got it, you got it, you got that boom boom

Just met a boy, just met a boy when…