Insanity begins when you return to the real world and come to the realization that despite everything that happened back there, reality is still the same.
Driving 100 miles per hour on airpark runways, with two friends hanging out the sun roof screaming the entire way can be disconcerting. Doing it on two hits of blotter while your friend in the BMW M5 is trying to push 180 on the next runway over, three hits frying his eggs, is even closer to insanity.
Relocating to a graffiti covered damn because the hard cider came and we realized it probably wouldn't be smart to hang around and do all that on camera, we had to drive in traffic on acid. Riders on the Storm seems meant for driving 50 miles per hour with colors jumping at you and your vision blurred.
Tears when she knew she had to be home or else her parents would get very, very angry. Reinforcing the idea that the world is insane, and reinforcing our desire to change it. Crushing hopes as I sit in McDonald's parking lot, while she eats her food, and I watch the
^
Hours
24
Open
^
painted in yellow on the pavement brighten and shrink and decay and breath and return to normal, as normal as hell could be.
It seemed like a thousand miles driving from dropping her off to my house. The thought struck me, as to where I was driving. At first it was a mere notion that I had simply gotten lost in the mile or so from her house to mine, but as time pressed on as an eternity rolls forward, it seemed more like I had taken some never before seen road and would never know where I was going.
And I still don't know where I'm going, but I think I know where I am.
Driving 100 miles per hour on airpark runways, with two friends hanging out the sun roof screaming the entire way can be disconcerting. Doing it on two hits of blotter while your friend in the BMW M5 is trying to push 180 on the next runway over, three hits frying his eggs, is even closer to insanity.
Relocating to a graffiti covered damn because the hard cider came and we realized it probably wouldn't be smart to hang around and do all that on camera, we had to drive in traffic on acid. Riders on the Storm seems meant for driving 50 miles per hour with colors jumping at you and your vision blurred.
Tears when she knew she had to be home or else her parents would get very, very angry. Reinforcing the idea that the world is insane, and reinforcing our desire to change it. Crushing hopes as I sit in McDonald's parking lot, while she eats her food, and I watch the
^
Hours
24
Open
^
painted in yellow on the pavement brighten and shrink and decay and breath and return to normal, as normal as hell could be.
It seemed like a thousand miles driving from dropping her off to my house. The thought struck me, as to where I was driving. At first it was a mere notion that I had simply gotten lost in the mile or so from her house to mine, but as time pressed on as an eternity rolls forward, it seemed more like I had taken some never before seen road and would never know where I was going.
And I still don't know where I'm going, but I think I know where I am.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
hana___:
Hopefully it will be equivalent. All they photoshop are requested scars [I'm not requesting any] and things like zits, stretchmarks [don't have those!], dark circles under the eyes, etc. from what I understand so it should be similar just artsier than normal thanks to the wonders of photography 
joenobody:
hey, do you know any of the punks from baltimore?