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2004-03-17 - 12:28 a.m.

Everything is flowering here and the mother will write _____ a love letter, catching the cadence of the quip. Streetside alley and universal rain, sometimes the bum wrote songs of achievement and drank and drank and drank. The cream of her drink is floating to the top and the purple flowers cause the blood in as to begin again and again. There are cinders though, the forgetting of forgetting, not far from carion and the saproprobes (who) will get to do their work and not bother to struggle for good. Cruelty is brought out into the open (finally) and becomes a meager little fellow. The absence of immortality is revealed and all is well on the riverwalk when the tourists leave for their hotel rooms. "I won't piss on you if you don't piss on me," said the stranger and quickly crossed streams and then left back to a law office beered up and grinning (the stranger, not the place of his (work?). Socialogically speaking, kept repeating the other guest for whom I was buying drinks. A nice guy with a proof of purchase tatoo somewhere near his wrist. He was of my year and it was his birthday. He told me some Texas facts, filtered through scotch and coke, on the rocks. Another lady, who seemed nice, but left prematurely was buying us White Russians and we had to give the bartender a lesson on how to pour them and a head's up about using rail vodka, "they'll never taste, the difference and it will save your institution money in the long run." The women down here have children early, as young as 12, and it's not out of the ordinary, then they milk the government for money. IoWA stands for Idiots out Wandering Around I come to find out and see where he's coming from as I can't find my ID (never could) to pay for drinks that I'm beginning to believe are filled to the brim in doubt. Leslie took us back to the apartment above a garage, the entrance was fenced by bamboo on all sides which attracts rats like crazy, the old folks say. Had a dream about shooting people in the back, somewhere deep within the flesh. It was just a drunk driven dream. The people I was shooting were on a trail with spring blooms on all sides, we were well hidden so I thought I'd get away with it. The people could barely feel the bullets but an old man found me out. I was being taken into custody when my father emerged from where Cicadas sang and said, "let him go, he did not know." The judges were relentless and took me into prison, despite my father's plea. The sentence turned out to be deleivered in an apartment owned by two transvestites who argued with me every day about the merits of their way. They used several drugs injected into somewhere near their elbows and tied off their veins with dental floss in an attempt to find the point of injection more easily. Should I blame my sentence on pre-determination? The sign in the dream reads "come in we're open" the one exactly next door says "sorry we're closed." It appears cryptic but the judge/owner receives the guests/patrons openly, even aslmost honestly. Then the chorus, before I woke up, began singing, There are sharks behind these sharks. "I know there are." There are black clouds behind these black clouds. "I know there are."

 

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