I'm Going to a Party

...a party, a party. I want mushrooms, bliss, floating social
interactions, chaotic displays of joy, the celebration of the Emptiness
of all phenomena, LOUD hip-hop, quiet dirty jazz in the bathrooms. I
want a coffee table covered in sticky old rum and coke, I want weed
stems slipping through the cracks of busted wicker furniture, rats
dressed up in little fuschia hats, a television showing "Making the
Band: Season 3" upside down and green, with sparks and flicker popping
out the backside. I want 10 brands of cologne and 38 brands of perfume
intermingling amidst the slow spins of the ceiling fan, I want breast
sweat falling into bowls of stale, soggy chips, I want the stench of
urine covering old bars of soap in the sports equipment closet, I want
chain of hand holding and burned hands of chain smokers, broken glass
filling up coffee filters, old men with new cars peeling out in the
street out front, fondue forks jammed into sides of raw beef (whole
cattle), I want rain reflecting the stars above falling into my open
mouth as I sing the songs of Southern rock bands and kick old boxes
into fetid swimming pools. I want YOU to pour me another beer form the
keg out back, I want frogs and gnats and old parrots and blue paintings
and dangerous metal sculptures and anarchist history books and rooms
full of people kneeling around small ceramic appliances getting high in
entirely new and unknown ways. I want to party, and I want to do it
now.