change of shirt because the boston bottanical looks like weed to
suspicious children. all caregivers are suspect.
my dream that i am on the edges whose memory is indistinct.
trying to remember last night's dream. this could have been a nightmare
trick but i recall thinking to myself in the dream that i ought to write
down the dream and turn it into a story. the nightmare trick lures the
waking into its memories. in the care of sleep all thought is suspect.
nightmare bleeds into the day's hours. it takes from the mundane daytime
thoughts and arranges them to create a gateway to the nightmare.
all caregivers lie but i trust dreams less. if i met a clone of myself i
would beat myself with a blunt object to avoid touching myself. then i
would nurse myself back to health.
as a child i sang along with
actually, i'm doing quite well, just writing mourning sickness. i feel
good now.
