7 Months in Cardiff:
vlad,
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,
tr
