untitled prosepome again: august '98

Manicky -- icky how loud can you fuzz your inner-monologue and slow the movie down? Solitude can slow things a bit unless you got caught in the edge cities with a bad car radio. Pick your nose and cry -- everyone else does here. I'd prefer some Schlitz and a Heavy Metal Road Game to the real thing. My meditation is med'd and Mediated by the luke-warm slide of pretty blue and red shiny lights. The covalency of my thoughts to starve-back loop stretches to a usual point -- I leave the light on to pretend I'm sleeping at 3 in the afternoon. I dream of inevitable community sacrifices that the Alliance for Progress never could figure out. My night is stealing secret surfaces in the pocket of a common office denominator. Lowest is Middlin'. August looks at its watch and tags Autumn. Thank Goddess.