The Praying People

That was the way I used to call them inside my head, long
unending lines of ravers - whom were messed up, worn out,
but above all, are dying to take a piss - urinate their
liquid substance while facing the ocean. In the night air,
they seem to me as if in a deep collective trance in the
course of an ancient cult ritual.
Which is, in fact, so.

A relative term

"This place has rules of its own!" I lectured to the very
attentive Danish Sophia this morning and was absolutely
right. As a matter of fact, there's the one super-rule and
the rest are all derived from it: "feast and drink, for
tomorrow we are all dead"; and in simpler terms, take
advantage of every opportunity that comes your way today...
if you didn't, somebody else will be glad to do it tomorrow;
or perhaps it's not the same... At any event out here each
day is a celebration, we're screwing on the cold wet sand,
consuming alcohol out of buckets and doing enough drugs to
convert all that used to be inhibited in to a somewhat sad
joke. Only trouble is, it doesn't really matter that you
enjoyed yourself or how much; the second one episode fades,
you automatically seek for the next, which comes without
delay; at the end of one day, you have accumulated more
experiences than in a whole month back home. Ironically
enough, you're just as miserable now as you were before.
Happiness, as it turns out, is only a relative term.

Very Encouraging

When we left the island, I was sitting in the back of the
rocky ferry and was staring at it for a long time growing
smaller before my eyes; it's tough, leaving paradise and I
started missing it simultaneously. Hard to believe tomorrow
we'll be waking up in another place. During a moment such as
this, it occurred to me, that there's something very
encouraging about the fact, that somewhere there's a place
where the party never ends.