tired but cannot sleep
Sometimes overnight I get worried. In the mornings I seem forever on the verge of trying to recall my dreams, when I get the faintest of glimpses before the whole thing evaporates like my childhood. Last night after this call I started to panic. Laying down for an hour or two with my mind feeling like cake batter, looking down every slight hint of grey and dry wall my window omitted into my dwelling area that I share with the bug men.
During the late hours, I had received a phone call from a probable mental patient with a british accent who asked me to suck his genitalia then admittably place a plastic bag over my head while I’m attempting to rest. The night before, my mind had spent sometime in a Nuthouse for the psychiatric disabled. I was dressed in a black suit as I travelled through decending elevators and into corridors of blood red rust stains with black mold and mildew walls of concrete. I had been conscious of the fact that I was sent here by the board to report an issue indicated in dealing with a patients difficulty in dealing with his experiences and suffered ‘severe depression and recurrent nightmares’.
The shock gets you through as your senses get taken away from you. Overstimulation, too much noise, too much movement, too much to do. So much that the specialties of any one sensing are lost or ignored. You can almost call it a sickness of the human condition.
I can hear you but I cannot listen to your plea. Much like yourself, I do not have wings but have such a strange and strong urge to fly.
Santos-Dumont, the diminutive dapper aeronaut from South America came to Paris, crashed his flying contraptions, and opened a restaurant with chairs and tables 15 feet high, requiring customers to climb up ladders. Isn't that wonderful? Isn't it psychotic? Mr. Laas on the otherhand has a burrowing tendency. He has an aversion to stairs and multiple-storied housing. In the endless Nebraska prairie a four-foot tall wispy-haired Freddy boy standing in a wheat field was the only landmark for miles and miles. The hawks could swoop down and carry him away, or lightning would be attracted to him.
He devoted a month to digging a hole in his backyard, made it eight feet deep and needed a ladder to get out. (Correction: He says it was 12 feet deep.)
During the late hours, I had received a phone call from a probable mental patient with a british accent who asked me to suck his genitalia then admittably place a plastic bag over my head while I’m attempting to rest. The night before, my mind had spent sometime in a Nuthouse for the psychiatric disabled. I was dressed in a black suit as I travelled through decending elevators and into corridors of blood red rust stains with black mold and mildew walls of concrete. I had been conscious of the fact that I was sent here by the board to report an issue indicated in dealing with a patients difficulty in dealing with his experiences and suffered ‘severe depression and recurrent nightmares’.
The shock gets you through as your senses get taken away from you. Overstimulation, too much noise, too much movement, too much to do. So much that the specialties of any one sensing are lost or ignored. You can almost call it a sickness of the human condition.
I can hear you but I cannot listen to your plea. Much like yourself, I do not have wings but have such a strange and strong urge to fly.
Santos-Dumont, the diminutive dapper aeronaut from South America came to Paris, crashed his flying contraptions, and opened a restaurant with chairs and tables 15 feet high, requiring customers to climb up ladders. Isn't that wonderful? Isn't it psychotic? Mr. Laas on the otherhand has a burrowing tendency. He has an aversion to stairs and multiple-storied housing. In the endless Nebraska prairie a four-foot tall wispy-haired Freddy boy standing in a wheat field was the only landmark for miles and miles. The hawks could swoop down and carry him away, or lightning would be attracted to him.
He devoted a month to digging a hole in his backyard, made it eight feet deep and needed a ladder to get out. (Correction: He says it was 12 feet deep.)
Where do you escape?
The ducks like to show you where things are. You can always trust a duck . You can always trust a duck to be loud and foolish and helpful. Ducks should hold more signs more often. Especially pedestrian cross walks. Ducks command a lot of slap happy attention. Today, I’m going to feed them on my bench by the river.
posted by daneatkinson at 9.4.06
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