A redux of the Amnesia original, Speed Freak. Thanks goes out to WKUK for being so razor.

Gallon o PCP [Whitest Speed Freaks You Know Remix]

Like a jaded lover growing more forlorn with every passing second, I was thinking more and more about my one true love. The one that got away. Mistress Trauma Doll. It had been a half dozen fortnights since I last saw her, held her, rolled around in primal ecstasy with her. Separation anxiety, you could call it. Unable to shake these persistent thought patterns, lust turned to obsession, and obsession turn to decision. I was going to get her back.
	I knew the risks all too well. It was a long drive to put myself in harm’s way; to go behind enemy lines and stare directly into the eyes of danger was like sneaking into the musky dragon’s nest just for a taste of the treasure waiting within. All I wanted was a taste. And so I took that drive.
	It’s unapologetically obvious when the border approaches. Everything takes on a grimy hue of ancient industry and filth. The enemy saturates these lands and for whatever reason they allow me to travel in their realm without apparent hostile intentions. I do not look like them, far from it, and they all stop to stare at me as their eyes all ask, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” And I respond with a suggestive sneer and stiff upper lip that keeps them at bay. 
	Crossing over into their territory is simple enough. A revolving door welcomes all who dare enter like a hospitable whore with open arms, sagging tits, and a bottle of lube. The natives all crowd me with the air of legitimacy, ready to take advantage of me in any way they can. The only thing that stops them from completely rapping me and leaving my stripped corpse in an unmarked grave is the fear of retaliation; retribution from myself, my homeland, or perhaps even their homeland, their boss. Whoever they work for surely knows who I am and what I came for and they leave me to my own device, so long as I behave myself, despite my reputation for act otherwise.
	Locating her is easy enough. There are signs advertising her whereabouts. She can be found in shops all across the run down city, the city which thrives on people like me to turn the gears, yet a city which in turn devours its own. Seeds and bad apples and all that. One of them greets me warmly. 
“It’s been too long.” He remarks with a plastic grin.
True though his statement may be I pay him no pleasantries, only domestic cash for what I came for. He produces my mistress and I expel a sigh of relieve to see her again. The great think about her is that she never says no, not to me, not to anyone. It’s a communal sort of respectful love, an ethical hedonism. I thank the man and am on my way. 
Up until now it’s been a downhill ride. This is where the rollercoaster clicks and clacks uphill with resistance.  I navigate my way back to the path leading me home, but not before I disguise and hide my mistress away in a place I pray no one will discover. A place my mistress has known before, though many different sorts of mistresses have known before her. It’s difficult to walk with a limp and hold oneself while trying desperately to remain incognito. 
In an unprecedented display of weakness, the defenses at the border are lowered. I am simultaneously relieve and suspicious. What sort of trap have the natives laid for me this time, I wonder. I creep across a turnstile and two dreary men with machine guns into a place where a long line should be awaiting me, but instead I find trouble. I can feel the cache rip and my nectar dispersing. Greeked! I gather as much as I can in a nonchalant demeanor as travelers pass by and onto the border beyond. I try to go back to adjust my nooks and carnies but it is too late for turkey; I am past the point of no return and knee deep in a rising shit storm of vulnerability. 
As I play the lost and confused traveler, a likely enough scenario one would find in these parts, I am secretly collecting my spilled cargo and my thoughts in regards to a smuggling contingency. I am approached by a senior agent who sees through my cover and instructs me to proceed into the hands of the border discerners, whose job it is to pick out fiends like me. It’s unclear whether he sees the utility in my plot and approves or if he is delivering me to a certain doom. Does this man know the pleasures derived from the foreign flowers, bled like the vein from god and augmented by science? The whispers he shares with a fellow agent do not reveal any good signs for me or my fate. 
At long last I meet with my proposed executioner, the man who controls the border and anything coming out of it. A well placed child spewing her timely vomit across the surrounding walk way is the perfect distraction from my scandalous deeds and affords me the time I need to scuttle away from the scrutiny of the discerners.
Once again I breathe the fresh air of freedom graciously provided by my homeland; a delectable change from stomach acid and digested tamales. As Mistress Trauma Doll begins to slip, ill at ease as she was, I remove her from hiding and we meet in a tender embrace. But I’m a long ways away from “home free” becoming a viable reality. 
As I left the cesspool behind me and made way for the cesspool that I call home, I am stopped by local law enforcement. Surely this lawman couldn’t have known anything of my endeavors across the border and my resulting contraband. He approaches me with a smug weariness like a caveman passing a dinosaur; surely this is a meal ticket, but do you really want to fuck with it? My best instincts tell me to act natural and let nature run its course, but there is nothing natural about this situation. I employ comprehensive social evasion tactics to negotiate a speeding citation in lue of hard jail time for the number of real crimes or arrest warrants he could have taken me in for, then go on my way.
The day is nearly done and I had won. This is what I paid for; what I risked life and limb over. Her bittersweet familiarity just barely makes it all worth it. I know we have a special relationship that not everyone can wrap their head around and I know that she will leave me in a month’s time, but until then I cherish the time we spend together. It’s the time apart that enhances our love more than she knows, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 



Mistress Trauma Doll Redux

Dear Drugs,

Just a warning... I wrote this song when i was listening to The Cure a lot.

Kill Me

Gosteffects - HOUSE OF GOD [god of house remix]

Adults with imaginary friends are silly. 

Godless Grooves

Sex Robot [extendedXremix]

And yet, the pool of life is a deep as you want to make it. 

Esteban, You've Hit Rock Bottom

Glitches B Trippin

You can call me Esteban

Fucked Up

Sup girl? I got cum on my pants. Let's dance.

CPD Drums

Esteban Amnesia and his damaged friends make fucked up music for you and your damaged friends.

I am a music journalist and enthusiast. All noises made here are for shits and giggle purposes. Enjoy and please leave me some constructive criticism. 

Esteban Amnesia

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