start humming along with me

I am confused for everything but what I am. I had a dream I was sliding down a stair bannister that kept going, forty, fifty stories down. At the bottom was a place in the middle of Earth similar to hell I suppose. There was a dark stage, and aisles so narrow that you could not walk in between the seats. You got around by crawling on your stomach underneath the seats.

I crawled right up to the stage which was raised, and in the side of the short platform wall there was a small door. I knew that this door would offer no escape, but there was no room to turn around so I had no choice. I went in. The space underneath the stage was occupied by featureless life forms, crowded together, pinkish beating blobs. They wanted to eat my sexuality and my soul, to feed evil in the world above.

The spring-like weather squished me through a time machine and put me smack dab in the middle of the merry old town. The only thing that pulled me back was the blinding sun setting thorugh the window pane. Wondering, I found myself in thunder-dome full of mis-shaped yellow balloons. And there she was on centre stage, in her yellow dress of little white poky dots, in a daze.

A few days ago, Mooky was visiting from North Bay and he said to me there’s a party going-on and everyone is invitied. I attended the gathering of dance music with drunks screaming and laughing within their own circles. There was banging in the hallway and the people of the stairwell called to each other from floor to floor. The building can get pretty noisy from time to time, but they’ve grown used to it, but for some reason I found it particularly intrusive.

Tired, agitated, frustrated, and progressively angry.
"Relax," they told me. "It’s not that bad."

I was reminded that my hearing isn’t very good, and that the noises were, indeed, that bad.

"You don’t hear that? You don’t think that’s bad?"

"What do you want me to do?"

I mumbled to myself, "...another restless night."

"You can’t complain to drunks about noise," he’d say. "It only makes things worse."

Teeming with excitement. Feels to me at times I catch myself thinking... about other... less important forms of life such as... mutating viruses...... I feel guilty....... I am putting her to sleep..... and humming....... and she starts humming along............. with me. I love it. More is better. Less means that something is wrong.