I’m sitting outside at a white metal table with an abstract design. It’s Jess and Emily’s table and chair. I’m sitting in the shade before the sun takes over. The weather is perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. The door opens upstairs and the horrible upstairs neighbor comes down…

Random meditations on jizz, poison, breath, peace “is the slippery whore i donated my jiz to for awhile staying there?” That, apparently, is what Johnny Depp was asking someone. Where do you go from there? What humiliation is beneath us? Well, it’s not mine or yours. Leave those rats under the house swarming…

An entry in Microcosm’s writing prompt project. — The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice. “Who are you?” said the Caterpillar. Well, as she didn’t know it would do no harm to take…

Just a writing exercise; it doesn’t mean anything — its a dream i said when the terrorists woke me up. it had been a workshop we went to for yet another angle of the mind or consciousness or sexual healing. But the doors were locked and the leaders were soldiers in uniforms latte and stern looks. I remember he…

I don’t have a transformational dream. I took a dream class but I didn’t keep track of any dreams. So I left. The dog and I are napping and I often feel like I have thoughts that slip away tailbone as I skate from sleep to semi consciousness. Not enough…