7 Months in Cardiff:

i think i'm down the street from 'lost my fuckin' mind'. i'm lazy as shit but do next to nothing but sit in front of a computer so i take an involuntary nap, or call it passing out mid-day fully clothed hugging my book about a notorious sodomite and killer, and then drift into dreams stretching to escape from the capital of wales and have vague recollections that i was in a cramped, dirty toilet of a shuttle in the outer reaches of space trying to figure out how to keep from whacking my head on the toilet ceiling in zero gravity and to get all my pee into the vacuum tube. then i'm stuck in a thorn bush having my face licked by mules after the air strike was called in on me because i'd figured out to hang glide around town with a jean jacket. i escape the thorn bush to the tree stump where i live, and don't mind being covered in blood and filth, just to find and hide a few canisters of sanity juice, aka whiskey with spit in it, to down later when my girlfriend gets home.

deepest throbbing passion,


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