dream: swimming from south street seaport across the manhattan bridge to my side of the city, like the black freighter before it all ends. a welcoming party for the general takes place and minding the bridge the homeless ask for my clothes which mean nothing but dirty river water as long as they make use of it. childhood shoes show up to be worn, tickets sold, rooftop party for the general, area in different levels with old friends that show up when they want to be seen. welcome only with one beer and long live the king but let’s go watch a film instead, a lone like me.
the mexican deli worker muttered his suicidal to-do list over my bacon egg and cheese
what i expected to be a good start of the day had already gotten better, here was a story for the ages and only my breakfast knew
i love the smell of duality in the morning in spanish he muttered, take me to the river, take me to the river although still waiting to stop making the lunches so he could go for his own when the clock reached 11 30 am he closed up his shop and walked toward the promenade it felt like it took a minute each time he took a step, so he smoked about two a row the good thing about smoking as you walk is that it cancels out any impuritiessomething like a soak in the ocean can provide as he arrived and leaned over the bars, the only thing separating him and the river he looked to the sky there was a flock of seagulls heading toward an airplane he looked around to make sure everyone else noticed it, but they all seemed oblivious he quickly regrets his life and all his regrets at the same time that it didn’t even matter anymore the seagulls hit the left engine of the plane and in three seconds landed on the river, splashing the deli worker, wetting his clothes everything is dead silent. but he sneezes. cold and water don’t match. he walks back to his deli, opens it up, and finally finishes making my fucking breakfast. ends.
These numbers are real
They’re amazing to me, uneducated ear. Talking to someone who could be your father, that doesn’t happen too often. Very real people take hours. I admire your confidence and the wetness of your pussy, sir. Unnesesarily awkward are the conflicts of being unique or sharing who you are. The Rum and Coke and Choco Chip in a Chinese ship with double the dates sip slow but long.
I’ve moved on from controling my dreams to having conversations and remembering through viscera.
This does not bode well.
Last night I dreamt an Academy Award
arrived in the mail. With everyone making a big deal out of it, I knew it was fake. So I ripped off it’s head and revealed a champagne bottle wrapped in golden foil.
