oh hell. what frustration.
in this terrible sickness
I breathe a different air
a planet where there is
less of everything
you spoiled Americans
are ruined by your oxygen
soon someone’s gonna
cut the supply
our radio friend Art Bell returns to the air and net waves February 5. I can’t wait. many days were spent at my old job leaning back in the chair listening to the paranormal classics. he went off for about a year, but he’s coming back – hopefully to stay.
like this
sick
head ain’t clear
it’s the body’s rebellion
going into work like this
is absolute hell.
going to work healthy
is absolute hell.
I can’t type it out.
dreamt this: casey and I had our bikes, which is strange in itself. we climbed over a chain linked fence with the bikes to video tape some random footage, God knows what for. busted by this raspy voiced cigarette smoking lady, Casey, by this time is now a boy, transforms into a little boy, and so do I, and to get away, puts on this cute act like, “Look at me and my Matchbox cars. When I grow up, I want to be a race car driver.” a “wace-car dwiv-uh.” he gives her the thumbs up. surely this worked. and he tossed her a Coke or something. laughing so hard inside, I knew once we got back over that fence and were running, I’d be slapping this kid over the head for pulling such a stunt.
each dream is telling me
I’m going out of my mind
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