Weird feelings in my stomach. Something of disgust. Literally have no idea what happened to my day today. Hardly did anything until about 4. Then went to a coffee shop. All of the energy and focus supplements. I am so distracted now. Hungry and dazed. Confused. Where did it go. Today. No one cares. What happens to you. Small sandwiches.
Gin and juice. Soup and sandwich. Spaceships landing in zoos and all of the crazy psychedelics necessary to handle a flaming lips concert. Be a freak and be okay with it. It's about love and the move of music. Moods. Good vibes. Beauty and fellowship. Having fun and using the power for good. Singing with all your might and dancing with a stranger. Falling in love. Never forget. Never forget. Another lapse of consciousness. My god. California. Three years estranged! Maybe she will fall back into my life and wear my winter hat in the middle of summer. Visual treat. Open your eyes. Weird is good. Weird is good. Nothing new there.
* * *
This all began as a hoax, as we put on our coats, the surprise and disbelief, a spring rain, wind picking up neighbors chimes and we file a formal complaint about the noise. Dressed up and silent like mice, already fat on cheese. No more breadcrumbs to follow, because baby doll, you ain't going back the way you came, that's been decided. Sweater in the trash, for pete's sake! (I wear the customary clothes of my time). Pine trees and a hilly countryside with a small buddhist-sized studio apartment. Something with room for a couch bed and a table. No desire for tv. To live without the draining box, that takes out intelligent curiosity into ones own affairs with the trivial and dishonest affairs of those beautiful shining faces in the box. The rectangle. Maybe a potted plant to water carefully. Make it feel like I'm not alone in their. I'll probably not be there often anyway. Most time spent in exploration of the city limits. The aggressive traffic and the pacifist navigator. Beneficial to purchase a navigation thing. For the car. The sub in the trunk. Possibility it will get stolen? Maybe not the outskirts, in the hills. Living in hotel rooms and or becoming a new roommate in a house for a while. A tenant. Anyway. About the sideways rain and the clap on clap off neon lights beneath the floorboards, clear plexiglass obviously, see into the basement where friends of a friend are playing pool, a currently vacant strip pole and car seat for lap dances, a red light in the corner, wiring hidden completely from view. A bar bottles locked up behind a glass case, alarm system updated and triggered, require a blood sample or a 10 number combination that changes daily, delivered to the inhabitant of the key. Let's play spin the roman candle. Make out with burning faces. Seven minutes in heaven, eternity in hell. We click our heels together and wish to travel abroad, to historical haunts, no time for homesickness, your legs should be grateful enough and you can sit in your European loft, looking out at cars driving on the wrong side of the road, sipping tea and reading the news. Flip through to the funnies after reading about American mistakes and hypocrisy, and get in a chuckle, the first of the day but certainly not the last because of how utterly happy you are. Laughing for fun's sake. For the sake of argument in the arrangement. (You cannot unwatch a movie). Ready yourself for a bare room. A few posters and guitars. We move our hips and lips, driving high through the states I used to love, leaving boxes of things somewhere, somewhere outside of this entirely. I have a lot of sutff and the upmost respect to it.
