Dreamsicknesseses A-Go-Go

Where's my Bartletts?


Goin' 'gainst yr mind at givin' up the ghost. Goin' with the grain sucks
to the
MOST.




I breath a ragged and grating rasp, this pestilence hast consumed my house, my elaborate plans, the end
of everything now stands...
THE END!
THE END!

Weird scenes inside the highway of my mind, a gold mine amidst a roman wilderness. A plain of pain... children insane, the ancient lake where the terrible snake dives. The hunter who wakes before pink dawn when everything blurs he put his boots on,
C'mon snakeskin boots
all hearty seeds and luscious fruit

the garden
with its four legs in the air like a dead cow

that's me now
sick, and my house
fenced off with spiked wire
and old pipes, and litter admire

the signs telling admonishing you to beware
an the old can rusting

As writers we weave our lives into our work. I wanted to write a great blog because I read so many terrible blogs that were wonderful because they were real. My real life was terrible so fake, it could be wonderful, I thought. Well. I took it too far. My life. My art. Whether it's subtle or blatant, it’s there

I fear truthS like anorexics fear a Buffet.

And sick, now, watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless
highway of images continue:

And appreciating my memories.
Trying to learn from the past,
but realizing
people change




Oh. Poop.