Le Tan

in vietnam of course we'd all be considered peasants up to our necks in sweat & sun cancers - our tans coooked in a coconut sauce the cannibal implications of which i don't care to explore but here where a thousand & one dalmations sizzle on stones with all the intelligence of their namesakes those spotted dogs to a soundtrack of oasis tom jones elton & george michael singing don't let the sun go down on me (i should be so lucky) that radiant far-off fireball sends its death rays across space to slowly fry us on the pebbled beach - sunbeds like flaming takitori grills an outdoor steak house where we liberally apply our SPF 0.5 marinades & then cheerfully head home to the ovens those airless apartments where we gasp the incendiary nights away - of course as an australian i'm in no position to sneer or feel superior - our melanoma-riddled culture taught the world everything it knows about "the beach" or so we suppose having failed to grasp the fact of rome of adriatic villas preffering instead our abominable drawls & watching mesmerised as our children crawl towards their own cancerous graves facing east towards that old enemy the one true rising sun


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