these ends don't tread on means

it's interesting, to use chemicals for ups and downs, as i've ascribed and tired to death before. but the cradle of consumption is one of extreme comfort, even coming from an anti-consumptive station. the odds, for sure.

the dreams contained a pamphlet, professionally done, about how i have no clue as to who i am until i've shot crystal meth. the fact that it was being sold to me by a long time crush of mine didn't help. i awoke clutching my arteries, the ones that poke out opposite of elbows and are a constant sign of what-could-be. they frighten due to their critical qualities.
the following were of muddled friends, mainly hard floors vs carpet. again, a comfort issue between my feet and the floor. the atmosphere between me and you. even if it's miles or molecules, the difference is negligable and noticable.
think hard and stay still. rain drizzling around and onto me, but unfelt. breath extends to create a sphere around my body, again unfelt. only static and seen. sexual encounters came and went, again unfelt. thought i did end up kissing my pillow upon waking. it made me appreciative that i have such a flower pattern on my pillowcase, as i definately felt the colors encase fading fake emotion. well, not fake, but from an entirely-self-constructed source. yet, isn't that what everything comes from? dream or movement: isn't every origin of feeling constructed from inside?

it's interesting, to use chemicals for ups and downs, as i've ascribed and tired to death before. but the cradle of consumption is one of extreme comfort, even coming from an anti-consumptive station. the odds, for sure. and i hate the idea of repeating myself, but i love it in practice.

Dreams*

I'm standing in a small room that breaks into a much larger one. But in between is a winding, long spiral staircase. I realize it's my teacher's house, a good friend of mine. As i ascend, i get halfway up and am startled by a baby falling headfirst, very fast, straight down the middle. I was terribly freaked out and couldn't look; i remember some cleaning, some screaming, but an overall calming effect afterward. Even through death. ???

Roland was talking to his dad. Roland, a friend from prescott who i really met in flagstaff, and his father, who i've never met. Their conversation via telephone seemed nice, as i could hear both sides in person from the same physical location. Suddenly, i'm in a liquor store, with Roland pushing bottles off of shelves, clear plastic liquor jugs, and as they bounce off the floor i quickly pick-up and replace them. We continue this, and though it makes sense that i might be annoyed by it, we're laughing the whole time. It's like a game that we both are having fun at. It continues till i wake.

I awake on a couch. I've totally been here before, but i have no idea where i am. The worn parts of the couch where dirt and soot have collected are even familiar to me. I roll over as i roll my eyes and in an instant see 12 people that are warm to me and white with welcome, but they're gone in the same instant. Then all i sense is smells: bacon, hummus, stale alcohol, and that smell you get from old clothes that's really familiar and comfortable but at the same time unrecognizable and disgusting. It makes me hungry and vomitus, and at that point i write a pop song for every person of which i remember their middle name.

*houses equal relationships, those between you and any other object (person); water (liquid) equals sex, that which is libidinal in all and each individual; self and environment is a reflection of worldview, paradigm, and id, that which is buried becomes unearthed through physical environment and the surreal projection thereof. Cue blue screen.