14.4.10
Yep.
Somewhere between my alarm going off and me actually getting up today I had a dream where I was playing a show with a drummer on a little stage and I tried to play the oboe and sing at the same time but it wasn't working and then we left and practiced for a little bit and I figured out that a guitar would work much better but then we came back to the show and people had left and we were like what why did they leave and then I decided that I would just start fake shredding on an electric guitar that showed up in my hands and I had a montage of me getting famous and wearing weird masks and a towel cape and making weird shredding music and then I woke up and was not in ICP.
12.4.10
The Spring of Our Disconnect
Midday, rising from my chair. Exiting the building I caught a whiff of the city on a strangely pleasant spring afternoon. The woes of being inside. A strange woman dressed much like a Peruvian panflute player was ordering a coffee in front of me but kept looking out the window with a gaze of pure horror, like she knew an ancient Incan curse was coming. I looked too. There was nothing. She left. The two ex-bikers, I'm certain, that now work as baristas took my order and delivered my order as I was rung up by the teen or post-teen person at the counter. A dollar seventy-five later, back in the open air with my cup full. Strolling across the street while people are bewildered as to why a bus is stopped and fail to realize that it is because they are in the street. The doors were doused last night or in recent memory with vagrant urine and the smell of ammonia mixes with the scent of new paint in the corridor by the elevator. Old and new, dirty and clean. Both a murky puce.
9.4.10
5.4.10
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