Crippled Engines

When one is in the grips of a fever dream, one often finds it is difficult to gain their bearings. Up is down. Right is left. Things of that nature. The whole selections of situations has deteriorated to complete and utter bat-shit. Waking is a lonesome, hateful task. Many of us are not capable of shaking off the magic dustman’s boon. Instead, we are locked in the dream. Eyes shut tight against reality. We see shadows of a life outside of our own and nothing more. For years, we are sweating balls and pussies in our beds, trying to make sense of these insane amalgamations and visions that plague us, fighting before our ever moving eyes. Locked in many forms nightmares.

Here we have the man who wakes up forty years into his life: did I do that yesterday? Christ what is today? How many meetings did I have? I didn’t…

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