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I am the bacterial residue that exploded moments ago upon the grime of two lovers under the hot night of an August War. I have covered this mass of sweat and love in a growth of a unique sort of beauty that will never be felt again. All the universe began then for us down here. And we’re all unique. The ones on the chin and the ones on the mouth and the ones in the ears and the back of the neck. The ones that work down in the central heating post of this waxing and waning and booming and shaking and tickling. Some of us live in all the kisses left like little outposts that creep upon every inch of their bodies. Some of these were dropped like raindrops gently pattering every sensitive surface. And some were floods and earthquakes sculpting life into its mystical frame. Crowds of us came from there and built million dollar multiplexes to watch the size of it. We laughed and cried and giggled and nodded at the badass after he did something cool. And we drank a shitload of that sweat and poured out little babies like we were real fucking hipsters with infinite resources. And we farted out a steamy load of festering and stinky ooze so sacred and beautiful it must have come from out Dark Jesus. Good news came that day and we had a parade as we marched to our first holiday. We didn’t know when it was, some of us live months but most of us celebrate early when we get cleaned from our partying lives and the negative of an irreplaceable photo disappears. We did it! We proclaim. And it was so worthlessly terrific that every mistake couldn’t be missed. The angels all died the same way. Each one melted like Icarus and flooded the moon with the wastes of their corpses and wax perfections. We died just like the unsacred filth. We were a perfect filth, not the ones that don’t count like the interracial or atheist or gay. We did it all right but we died the same fucking way. We didn’t make any of the same mistakes as those other jackasses, we paddled right through until we lost our membranes and oozed all over the floor just like the soppy as shit ending to a soap opera. Just like the splash of a diver with his neck on a noose. Just like the brown bags that burn to start a fire in a filthy abandoned building. Just like the star than meths into a black hole fishing for another ride on the heaviest gravity. Just like the taxi that crashes into the school bus and starts an awesome fire, exploding into the worst sort of terror. But we were so sacred when we did it. We were the last of the most beautiful endangered animal that was only beautiful because it was endangered. We told stories around tables and built cities so we could invade and kill each other. We snapped photos and then burned them away into oscillations on an endless grid. And you ask us why the fuck should you try it? How could that awful mess be so amazing? But don't knock it till you try it.