Raving Luna Sea
Willie Vassal lacks sleep.
Well, that implies he misses, needs, or even wants sleep. Years of dancefloor punishment have hardened his body to the task at hand; his is a steel resolve fortified with chemical reserves. He absorbs each thump and converts into a kinetic frenzy.
Stinging sweaty fullmoons peer over the salty human sea which rocks a cosmic rhythm. Willie embraces purpose with open arms; his visions of perceptual motion perpetually sway in an ocean of light. Willie’s wavelength arms ride the pulsing stobe like a midnight surfer firewalking the crest of liquid flame.
He dances to cure cancer; shakes to feed the poor. With every turn and bend of this clubbing angel, a harp seal goes unclubbed.
A patient snake eats its tail on the turntable as the dutiful DJ keeps the records spinning. To stop is to die, it is to starve third-world babies. In defiance to the world’s call, Willie Vassal’s mental moon dance never ceases.