I’d still like to think I have a heart as big as a furniture warehouse. Maybe I’m a little out of stock, but I’d still like to think I have the space. I don’t know. Who does?

May the universe grant me the joy of pretending that what I don’t currently have I can always put on order.

A long time ago in my little tiny hometown, I used to hear barking dogs at night, trains whistling from down the road, and I used to understand their language. They were just lonely things in the night, looking for stuff to fill themselves up with. I understood that. Now I just hear police helicopters and the neighbors fighting. The cops are looking for someone. The neighbors are reminding each other that they’re a fucking moron.

I’ve pulled a sample of something from somewhere, like I’m some kind of superhip super hip hop producer plugging a better sound onto something that’s just newer, not better, but not bitter for not being the best. I’m still working really hard on decomposing to feed a better sort of life, whether for myself or for some civilization to come, I don’t know. Who does?

I’m going to fall slow motion ninja style onto my pillow now, and I hope it’s really there by the time my head arrives. I’m just a random fan looking for a good show. I’ll find one or two in my sleep, if I’m lucky. One of them may star a woman with really sexy hands. The other will star a train.

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