if all this jazz had a foreword or a preface (by the author), it would begin with the words of Dylan: The Times They Are A-Changin...
in the past few years, i've, rather involuntarily, trained myself to fall asleep without the aid of hard liquor. you see, those of my ilk may often require blackout drunkenness to hush the tiny neurological children that keep rapping at the Window Pane of Unconsciousness, causing Delta Wave Mischief even though their cortical parents called them home for dinner hours ago.
and my slightly eschewed Brain-Mind tends towards pretty horrific, hauntingly convincing dreams, so that's a total pain in the ass too.
so you're damned if you do, damned if you don't?
exactly. so when i do get my two hours of "sleep" and finally "wake up," i have to spend the day figuring out if what i said or did in a "dream" was actually said or done in "reality." pretty troubling stuff really, but it does keep things interesting.
alarm? dismay? the passing of judgement? you thought that "Maniac" trip was just a marketing ploy? Silly Wabbit, anti-psychotics are for (s)kids...
with problems and fury and destruction in their hip pocket, carried at all times. like a Photonotoxic shit-wallet, stuffed with FuckShit. and thus, my reversion to the Bad Old Days.
i'm simply tabulating this policy shift electronically because my two parts are once again at war.
ALPHA: don't booze. be safe. honor thy mother and father. 2+2=4. thou shalt not kill. i love too much to see you do this to yourself. (sobbing uncontrollably)
OMEGA: get to boozin' asshole! and hit Donte up. you haven't treated me to crack in a while you fuck. (burning itself with cigarettes)
night night, don't let the bed bugs bite.