you know when i took that picture, it was supposed to mean something, like look at my despair—damn can't get the pesky camera angle right—there! there!  all this effort, this wasteland, down the toilet with you! 

Big mistake.  It was Qone of those many epiphanies like one drunk talking to another. Worst thing to do is only a little..  Eventually just ended up going back.  So that one moment where fantasy and fetish were in my hands—like I fantasized, like my life's fruition had come to play—and it all just sounded so daunting, like running a marathon you have to race, I felt so miserable I couldn't do it and  I ran through everything for it

I thought it was the chance out.  I thought—well, I didn't understand, as even in that despair I was perplexed by the movement of this insanity.  I thought maybe he got stuck with her and was trying to throw her on me—He was fucking her pretty good for awhile.  But maybe she gets belligerent when she drinks, and he found himself in that untenable position where when they come for her, the ATF will also find him.  He's in a gang, or runs in a network of people.  It's not my business, but if that is the case, I can take a step back and quickly take action.  I'm not fettered by that quiet wheezing breeze.  I know what he does.  He's always adding to his legacy, then starting again.

Sometimes I'll have these quick nightmares, that don't run like lines or shapes in a dream.  They're not long enough to be nightmares.  They have no form, but they reside on a plank in the cusp of a dream.  They are more poignant than a breath of your heart shook out of sleep before you even reach...

They are not pleasant.  They will not charm you because they are not ugly.  (remember that one time I said it was a wounded fly by my feet but it was a piece of lint?  Not it's the real thing.I don't know what to do.  I mean I probably killed a fly a the other week when I was angry at the cable.  Th long I talk the the more pain? I—yes!  He just flew.  That is just the result I could've wanted.  I didn't want anything to do with that situation.). They are the ghost of the brute force of monsters unknowing; they are stronger than resenments and more collected than malice.  They are straight undisputed panic no god-fearing citzen w/ a zero tolerance policy on dog-fighting—and to a lesser extent, cock-fighting—should endure.   (Fuckin fly took the air out of my cock-fighting bit)

I don't know how to describe it.  If it had a shape, it would be a foot.  This foot's And in this foot there are oceans. Big oceans.  This foot's so big there are so many spaces.  In here there are things bigger than oceans.  There are places to jump in these spaces.  In here I'm a tiny foot, smaller than a fish. And I have to go all the way or else, and to get to places you have to walk, but im so small and and I know that it's giving me 1,2,3, when all there is is infinity.

I don't know how to describe it.  All I've felt is the stretching futility as it dawns on me and won't let me go because there's only one way and I can't ever get there., i can't ever think about getting there because it's too big to think