Chocolate croissant eaters anonymous May your passionate true purpose be revealed in your neurotic embryonic bypass, gas-mask placenta I mean nothing by her yours I’s I mean eye like icecream No question We’re not so different We both go to school (in and out) It’s up to you to know purpose What butter, baby I’ll
TagSurreal
And Now, The Generalissimo Will Use These Tortellini to Turn You into a Horse
What I can remember, however, every morning, is a dream. Not merely a memory of a memory hiding in the recess of a bad night’s sleep. I remember every detail. The color of the curtains in the room, the number of flowers in the vase, the dialogue, what I’m wearing, who I am. I can recall a maximum of three dreams from the previous night, but I average around two. But just like you probably have no idea what you ate for dinner a week ago, eventually the dream falls away. I make a point of remembering the ones I want to remember and I let the rest go. People always tell me to write them down. I’ve protested this practice. A dream is ineffable, not simply language, it isn’t just a story…