The bastards that make up most of my nighttime dreaming are ever present and on edge.
Imagine a well armed poet ambling down the street at night looking for his angry fix.
you now have a picture in mind of yours truly.
snapshots of life are moments gone by, how not to dwell when they adorn the walls of houses and bedroom nightstands?
All the cats in the house are trained by an alarm clock to know when it is time to eat – this is the morning. In the afternoon and evening – it is the coffee grinder. We have Pavlov’s cats because I don’t care for dogs.
Or rather, I haven’t been able to love a dog since I had minekilled while in my arms.
the only thing I can ever tell you with confidence is that you will not live for 100 years. Even if you go about proving this wrong you will soon die of old age.
also, for further proof of God’s sense of humor all one ever need do is look long into the mirror. not while on LSD or listening to enigma.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 