What Lies Behind the Stripclub

Saturated red and blue lights greet the mangled body of some unknown stripper. Yellow caution tape, photographer's flashes, and calm silohuettes surround the crime scene on an otherwise quiet Tuesday morning in Las Vegas. Small pools of vibrant colored blood following the force of gravity toward the nearest cesspool bacteria infected gutter as an homage to the slain victim, a sort of return to the home country, down the sewer channels with the rats, the homeless, and hybrids who have all become sickened with modern society while seeking the most effiecent way to survive as parasites on the puss filled open soar known as the Las Vegas Strip. Bike cops from the stripclub talk amongst each other wondering how such a criminal act could slip right through their collective fingers. Nothing left now but a mess for the Hazmat team to remove, body parts, dissectated flesh and a few missing fingers are nothing more now than tallys in a criminologist's statistical catagories chart. Someone's daughter has died tonight, the street surface quickly absorbs the blood, then digests it as sustanence, a gang hit, a low fi tribal sacrifice, and a movie of the week's plasma soaked graphic religious possession. Dogs bark in the distance, a disturbing force is present, demanding souls, expliotating the weak, while pulling the veil of darkened control over the minds of every pleasure seeking plantation drone with enough clout to sneak off the farm for the night to take part in the historical roots of mystical magic hypnotic transcendental behavior. Searching for clues, to answer well known, but denied from conscious belief, a crown of thorns, self flagallation, and multiple personality disorder. Day will come to call soon enough as seen by the lights growing brighter in the eastern sky, not all shall make it home safe tonight, so run from this field, from this town, this pleasure island marooned in the middle of the universe, where no sancutary exists, the nation, the world, and the mind have exiled everyone in this palace of the insane. Doors welded shut, permanent incarceration where a life sentence would feel like probation, no amount of self destruction, suicide, or drug abuse can lift the shackled weights from the bone, fusing as one while metallic stretchers haul off human remains inside a bright yellow zip up body bag.