I have this recurring dream where a small girl dressed like a monk in a marone robe takes me bowling and asks me a serious of questions. Each time I answer she pauses briefly and then sips from her lemonade. We talk about the Aztecs and ancient astrology.

RUN me a little fairytale, and try to make it sugary, because on this day you will be the child and you must believe. Today the world will flow with the sweet purity of schizophrenia, a reality so blindingly lucid that the world will be truer than its even been, yet so totally clear that it has become unacceptable, a hellish ode to existence, the burden of sadness which comes when attempting to walk the straight line of form.

go to the local train station just for a coffee break at the peron. clean up the old stuff storage. watch some lo-fi films. traveling in own hometown. wake up earlier and take a ride. listen to the rain. serve a breakfast. go wash the dishes together. take care some plants. thank for the first breath when you wake.