The faux-wall door on the white tile shower wall led to a parking garage where Chris was waiting with a tall monster. They ran in circles. I wanted to ride the water-log ride that took me on a tour of the high-rise theme-park in the dusty hills.

Why did he wake me up? I did not want to process this order so late at night. I grabbed the throbbing bottle of kerosine and sprayed the stuff on a stack of paper and then on myself--I lit it up, all of us together.


::The Long and Winding Road::

Weeds on the ridgeline. Twilight. Empty provencial homes. Passing Storms.

Its sad. I see the dreamscape, but I cannot deliver on its promise. I just want to press the GO button. I just want it to explode and send sparks of shrapnel thudding into my dumb face and head. I want it to jerk me up like a steel wire on my wrist connected to a rocket. I want to lick and smell the future. I've felt dead for a while now. When will I recieve the next coordinates, the new line of attack?

Something to be given even? I'm not quite sure. I sort-of believe in fate, because I could see the lines of possibility so clearly once. A moment of clarity. Extacy; the future, they intertwined in a rare moment of bodily perfection. Complete equilibrium. Nowhere I'd rather have been.

I have begun to agree with the naysayer POVregarding recreational drug use, and specifically marijuana. Its simply mind numbing, and nothing could really compare to the all-natural dopamine that dripped into an alert mind at just such an instance, a passing point, a wave of temporal digestion fruit.