I Don't Have Time For Introductions

But Wait There's More

    I've gotten so bad. When I couldn't get out of bed before, I would fall off. Once I'm naked and open on the floor I can't just stay there. I scare myself. I have to move.

    Now I lie there crying and listening, almost exclusively, to Mazzy Star. Who's to say I'm not on my floor right now? Not me. Ha. Fuck even knows.

     I'm dating a tub of guacamole and a pack of American Spirit. That is to say, I'm single, but I think my Facebook profile will say "It's complicated." for the rest of my mortal days. I get so anxious, I don't want to sleep because I'm afraid I'll dream. I feel more real in my dreams than when I'm breathing. I like watching myself from over my own shoulder. I feel dirty otherwise. 

    I start thinking about how really all we are are little brains trapped in these massive meat-shells. I want out. Yikes.

    I think it's important you know what I'm hearing; feeling, as I write this. Taste every note. You'll never know me. Even I can't do that. You're not a fucking wizard. Stupid.

    All of my paragraphs end up being two lines and I've finally reached the point that I'm sleep-deprived enough to start typing and not stop. No thought. All thought. Who knows. I'll add a third line. Just to bother you. I just want you to know if I threaten or insult you, either I'm looking into a mirror or I know something you don't.

    I'm shaking. I can feel my heartbeat. I'm here, brothers. Valhalla. Just psychotic enough to relax. I am... zen? I am. Wasted. No, honey. It's too early for that bullshit. Pick yourself up. 

You're still just as dead as when you woke up.

Just as alive as in your dreams.