Savage Burn (2003)

"Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only real cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas. To relax, as it were, in the womb of the desert sun." -Hunter S. Thompson A new Hajj; this twisted caravan driving headforth into the barren desert, the weasels biting at our mudflaps, our shredded Achilles. Soon, only the strongest of the creatures can survive the dead land. They lurk. We gathered, sweating at the outskirts of the Empire; adrenaline seeping from our pores, clinging to the air. We could smell ourselves on each other. Our last anxious moments before we took Black Rock to repent, to receive, to burn. By day we stood inside the temple, painting our souls on piñata pillars, then driving madly across the plain. "But the night time is the right time…isn't it little Alex?" When the sun dropped, we arose from heat sleep; riding clouds and galleons amongst each other. We placed our hearts on the desert floor, feeling the vibration of the city. Purging. On the fifth night, we surrounded him, dancing, licked by flame. His beating heart pumped blood alive through our veins. He raised his arms, ready to immolate, and burnt for us. With his ashes, we anointed our heads and scattered.