Faded fleeting images of tropicalia long dead. Sunsets trapped in jars of marmalade. Night eyes unhindered by light pollution. The endless whisper of waves. You will never set foot on this island, but it calls for you every unwaking hour.
Streets full of food carts, gamelans, 24 hour neon-lined arcades, fortune tellers robed in copal smoke.
It doesn't exist, but you life will not be complete until you get there.
Streets full of food carts, gamelans, 24 hour neon-lined arcades, fortune tellers robed in copal smoke.
It doesn't exist, but you life will not be complete until you get there.
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