SWARTHOS

Drifting Through the Neon Abyss: Dispatches from the California Welding Shop of the Mind

Folks, this ain’t no ordinary track report; this is the twisted conga line of madness that’s our reality, baked to perfection under the glow of a neon blue sentinel – the bastard light that’s searing holes through my bedroom wall at this very hour. It’s a beacon of lunacy in the still of the night, a signpost to the outer limits of sanity. I’m currently entombed within the fiery maw of a heatwave from Dante’s own nightmares – a sizzler, boys, if ever there was one. At 9:00 PM, the mercury screams ’90 degrees!’ and the AC rattles like the last man standing after a six-day bender. Shudder, this is Los Angeles on the edge, and it’s not a pretty sight.

August 4th, 2024.

City of Angels? More like the City of Searing, Cackling Demons. Everywhere you look, there’s evidence of the world being on the brink of some sort of Armageddon. The economy’s crawled into a ditch and it ain’t likely to crawl out again without a damn good miracle. And WW3? It’s just out there, lurking in the shadows like that last swig of Rum before the hangover takes hold. It could start any minute. Good evening, folks! Welcome to the staring contest with the abyss.

But I’m not gonna go down without a fight. Oh no. I’ve got my kit ready – those glorious yellow-tinted spectacles that filter out the madness and let me see the world in Technicolor. There’s a reason they call ’em the acid test glasses. I’m fully loaded for battle, you see: my sound and video recorders ‘raring to go’. Without them, I’d just be a blind man in a snowstorm, lost and bewildered. No, sir, I’m set for tomorrow, August 5th, 2024. I’m prepped for the final assault on the ramparts of reality. 

I ask you: where the hell am I? And how did I get here so fast? Hell if I know. But I promise you, dear reader, I won’t let this happen again without a fight. I won’t go down without a fight. Let’s just say I’m like the last rat in a fire storm – but I’m the rat with a microphone. I’ll broadcast this mother all the way down.

Countdown’s on. It’s time to light this candle. It’s gonna be a hell of a ride, and I hope I don’t fuck it up. Pray for me, will you?

SWARTHOS 2.0 signing off.Sampler Confirmed.

Farewell and goodnight. For now, the glow of neon blue light still bleeds through the shade, the AC’s humming like a hymn for the dying, and the city’s ready to rip itself apart at the seams. But hey, if you’re going to go out, go out in style, right? To hell with it all.

End Dispatch