Five Scars Left to Dawn

Gold dust spider monkey spoke to Jehovah. He got lost on the sidewalk.

I saw a poodle singing in a window ‘how much is that doggie in the window?’

Her hand felt soft and wrinkly. I asked if I could borrow some money and she said to me ‘well what about your memories? - are they not more important than money?’

The reflection in the glass was fuzzy. Like barbed wire. I had to tear myself away.

There were cut up bits of paper everywhere. They looked so amusing to me, I started jiggling them around like a collage. What’s so great about a gay heroin addict anyway?

All this talk of calenders, and astral projection, and the mayans. Well what if I just want to sit in a café and have a piece of carrot cake?

"If you have a pre-recorded universe, in which everything is pre-recorded, the only things which are not pre-recorded, are the pre-recordings themselves".

"Well that is all well and good", I replied, "but I want a coffee".

She looked back into my eyes.
An artistic void, the oppressive, controlling aspect of the mother persona.

I looked around at the café and it amazed me what could be done by the human voice and one phrase.

These people were reacting agents, who were reacting to my reaction. So I picked them up in my hands and threw them into the dream machine, through holes in thin air.

Every particle of this universe contains the whole universe

The great wind, sound and image flakes fall. Pull out his eyes. Pull them out. These colourless sheets are empty. You never existed at all.

I could hear that I killed it. It needed destroyed. No good, no bueno in the absent world. I was cold and uninterested from now on.

Explosion splits the boat, and there were five scars left to dawn. Whatever remained could give no human context.