Only Answers

“And I’m still swinging from the liquor tree, and Eden is a hell of a place.”

Because escaping identity and hellhounds and all that, but don’t go getting too essentialist on me in an existentialist state of, well, being, for lack of a better verb. Noun.

Discipline. Punish.

I don’t know much about deals or karma. I don’t know much about the lottery except that it’s impossible to win it all, and even if you do, the government just goes and taxes the shit out of it for you. And who knows who the government represents, anyway? It might as well be God for all I know–some nebulous force operating just outside the periphery of my comprehension. I watch the pieces twitch in place; I don’t know how they connect.

It’s fine; keep moving; keep marching; it’s fine; you’re fine; keep breathing, sleeping.

I must be sleeping.
I wish that I were dreaming.