I have this problem that when salesmen start to talk to me, I start to dissassociate. I can feel my mind drifting further from the situation, till it’s turned into a spycam on the ceiling from which I can see impending embarrassment unfold. This separation stresses my body out, paralyzing my ability to answer this question: “What can I do for you today?”

NOTHING

I want to run, but I can’t

so instead I say, “UH”

This may be a psychic rejection of capitalism. Or maybe I have social anxiety. Democracy: your choice

I could stand on my own two legs, epithelial and osseous, but I’m propped against this crutch since I slid off the saddle and forfeited the reigns

Someday is a 2-day vortexual holiday: It is everyday and it is never.

eating Spinach with my dog

Last night I had a dream that I entered an abandoned home which at the time was once familiar. It was filled with many aquariums and all of the saltwater fish were in fresh water and I was extremely stressed about their peril but due to the time sensitive nature of my mission I was unable to transfer them to their proper tanks. In one room in the back I found an Alien and was then forced to run. As I ran through this neighborhood I discovered that the town was empty, save for a shack with a dirt floor and a sheet for a front door. Within the shack was a lone woman; she was cooking and smiling and I warned her that it was the end of the world and that we must now flee. She was to be the last person I ever kissed, I told her, but we never did.

Feeling understimulated one warm Thursday afternoon, Sally fabricated heartbreak and listened to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. The sheer poetics of the situation did not go unnoticed by Jimmy, who had appreciated her disaster politics since one similar afternoon back in second grade when she informed him that the jungle gym was not up to OSHA health and safety standards. “You can break your arm,” she said, pointing to a narrow gap between two alloy bars. From then until sixth grade graduation when he would see it for the last time, Jimmy leered at the rusting structure with trepidation. At night in his dreams, through an ephemeral thicket of hormonal night sweats and prepubescent stressors, Jimmy watched the jungle gym morph into a sinister embodiment of Sally. With arking, bending metal arms, she wrapped around him tightly, squeezing his torso and breaking his arm. When he awoke he felt something indescribable with a second-grade vocabulary, but he knew it was significant.

The jungle gym has long been replaced by a set of plastic slides surrounded by a floor of rubber tire mulch, the scent of which, on hot days like these, now reminds Jimmy of a Sunday afternoon purchasing tires with his father. Not remembering the dream but the foriegn feelings it invoked, Jimmy would spend this afternoon wishing he would be the one to smash her heart.  Sally has no direct preference between broken arms or hearts, his or hers, real or imagined, she just wants to hear the pieces jostle around.

Last night I had a dream my publicist strongly recommended that I stop updating my Facebook status

gross.

Last night I had this dream that it was the Rapture

My disbelief disintegrated when a sensible (khaki-wearing) Christian family showed me the rising of two inverted pendulums which were attracted to a specific location in the sky.

It was then I began to prepare my physical and spiritual self for The End, scheduled at 11pm, EASTER 2012

At 11:01 I was again skeptical, and by 11:30 I had resumed sinning

The end is naught.

if I die alone, at least I will be in good company

Where is this. I must see it.