Oct 20 Friday night youth group. Anna’s BDay Bash @ v2o.
Oct 21 Focus @ Russel’s w/ James, Willis, Amy, Naoko.
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Imagine you are in a prison. Inside this pastel cell of persimmon pink and lilac lamps, there is a porcelain toilet, spotlessly white. You must escape, you feel oppressed by this room, it reeks of desolation and spirals. Every second locked away, you grow weaker and weaker, fighting back polka-dotted waves of nausea. You look at the toilet and it looks back, offering clues, a hint. There must be something about that toilet. And then you notice it. The seat flap is open. The answer hits you. It is an open invitation to expunge your inner bile, the concocted disaster you drank down earlier from tumblers and bottles, the drunken rumble roiling within. So you crouch down, knees on either side of the floor, and stick an index finger down your throat, tapping at the uvula in Morse code, the signals knifing through your brain with such urgency. Acrid. It takes a moment. You choke. Tap, tap, tap. And as you vomit the clear liquid, the walls shake and the bars become transparent. Freedom, you think, and it is so close you can almost taste the blue mountain springs. But the bars still remain. The prison is all too pink. It’s just another tingle-tangle tango.