chunks of flommus
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took a charter flight on a dc-10 to London,

landed at Heathrow.
Took a cab to the city center.
Don’t let people lie to you, hostels are for the ugly.
I’m staying at Home House, the most beautiful hotel.
Called a friend from school who was selling hash,
but she wasn’t in. Met a couple of Brits
who take me to of all places, Camden Street.
I flirt a bit at the Virgin Megastore, buy some CDs,
then follow some girls with pink hair.
I wandered around trying to get laid until it started to rain,
then went back to Home House. “Ministry of Sound” is dead,
so I go to “Rem Forum,” but it’s “Gay Night.”
I find one hetero girl and we dry-hump on the dance floor.
We cab it back to Home House, I strip her clothes off
suck her toes and we fuck. Hung out for four or five days,
met the world’s biggest DJ, Paul Oakenfold.
Kept missing the Changing of the Guards.
Wrote my mom a postcard I never sent, bought speed
from an Italian junkie trying to sell me a stolen bike.
Smoked a lot of hash that had too much tobacco in it.
Saw the Tate. Saw Big Ben.
Ate a lot of weird English food. It rained a lot.
It was expensive and I’m jonesing – split for Amsterdam.
The Dutch all know English so I didn’t have to speak Dutch,
which was a relief. I cruise the red light district,
visit a sex show, visit a sex museum,
smoke a lot of hash. I meet a Dutch TV actress
and we drink absinthe at a bar called “Absinthe.”
The museums were cool. Lots of Van Goghs
and the Vermeers were intense. Wandered around,
bought a lot of pastries, ate some intense waffles.
Bought some coke and I cruised the red light district
I found some blonde with big tits that reminds me of Lara.
I gave her 100 guilders. In the end, she pulls me out,
I come between her tits even though I’m wearing a rubber.
We made small talk about AIDS, her Moroccan pimp and herself.
I wake to the sound of a wino singing.
It’s 8:00 a.m. and hot as blazes.
I pretend to ice-skate around Central Station.
Trade songs with a Kiwi girl, then split for Paris
Wandered the Champs-Elysees, climbed the Eiffel Tower
for only seven francs – the ticket machine was broken.
Got the hang of the Metro, took it everywhere.
Ford model party, hooked up with a model named Karina.
She chugs my cock at the Marriott, which is good.
Played billiards, went shopping I think she gave me mono.
Drove a Ferrari that belonged to the Saudi royal family.
Made out with a Dutch model in front of the Louvre.
Saw the Arc de Triomphe – almost became road kill.
“Oakie” invites me to Dublin, I catch an Aer Lingus flight,
stay at the Morrison – Dublin rocks like you can’t imagine.
Oakenfold lets me spin some discs with him.
Irish girls are small as leprechauns.
I swap hickeys with a drunk woman after groping my abs
and calling me “Mr.LA.” She strips for me
in the bathroom of the club. Sneak into the Guinness factory
and steal some stout so good my dick goes hard.
I fly to Barcelona which is a bust.
Too many fat American students, too many lame meat markets.
I dropped acid at the Sagrada Familia,
which was a trip, to say the least.
Cruise up the coast to Museo Gala Dali,
but had no more acid, which sucked.
Some girl from Canada calls me on my cell,
so I let her listen to the church bells.
Canta Cruz is beautiful but there are no girls there,
just old hippies. So I went to Switzerland
where, ironically, I couldn’t find anyone with the time.
Took Glacier Express to Shiltone
which is beautiful in a way I can’t describe.
EuroPass into Italy, ended up in Venice,
met a hot girl who looks like Rachel Leigh Cook,
and speaks better English than I do.
She’s living for a year on only $5.00 a day.
We gondola around, buy hash. She thinks I’m a capitalist –
my room costs more for one night than her entire trip.
She doesn’t mind much when I pay the bills. I ditch her
and hook up with a couple who obviously want a threesome.
Much tension, but the doofus offers to drive me to Rome,
an offer I jump at. Traffic’s bad, we’re stopped for hours.
The wife’s a freak. The guy wigs out on me.
It’s like a Polanski film. We stop in Florence,
where I see some big dome. A bomb goes off
I lose the weird couple, which is probably for the best.
Ended up in Rome, which is big and hot and dirty.
Just like LA, but with ruins. I went to the Vatican,
which is ridiculously opulent. Stood for two hours
to get into the Sistine Chapel, which now cleaned, looks fake.
I meet two underage Italian girls who I try to talk
into fucking each other while I jack off onto them.
Bored, I buy them some ice cream instead.
My hotel has a gym, so I work out.
I bump into some guy from Camden who says he knows me,
but I’m sure that he’s a fag, so I lose him.
I try to fart and instead shit my pants.
In my room I masturbate and have a pain in my groin.
I dream about a beautiful girl, half in water,
stretching her lean body. She asks me if I like it.
I tell her she can clean fish with it.
I don’t know what it means, but I wake well-rested,
masturbate in the shower, and check out.
Make my way back to London, hang out in Piccadilly Circus.
Swap shirts with some upper-crusty Cambridge chick.
Hers was an Agnes B.; mine, it cost me my Chanel.
She acts stuffy and prudish, but is really wild underneath.
She barely looks at my abs, though she wants to.
The next day I drop acid and get lost in the subway
for a full day and can’t find my way out.
I meet a cute girl that lets me jack off onto her
as long as no come gets onto her Paul Smith coat.
We get stoned while listening to Michael Jackson records.
The next morning, I wake up talking to myself.
I had a big bump on my head from flailing in my sleep.
I get my stuff and barely make my plane
back to the United States. I no longer know who I am
and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger.
So then I ended up back here.