Let it be understood that enormous cotton-candy clouds don’t come along every day of the week, and when you have an opportunity to get up close to one, you ought to go on and get up close, because you’re only here once, as far as you or any one of us may ever know for certain, and you just can’t tell when you’ll have another chance to engage in this way, on this level, with this kind of thing.

So, look around, inhale all the way, expand and contract rhythmically until you become a soft, sweaty rock, insides out, flirting your face off in the flowering colored lights of the abstract documentary that is the mutual rubbing of every virtual opposite redisassembled in the psychedelic combustion of vital transforomance.

(Text by Angie Keefer)