So what if I'm in the corner, slobbering and spitting hot tears about what could have been Jesus, except I never took Jesus for the prankster sort. The science fiction dreams have become so familiar in their fragility, and I can't tell you the heavy golden om on my eardrums when one robot turns to the other and says, "Well, we'll just ask him to do the same next time. He won't remember there ever was a time before".
I've only seen you alone spinning like an avatar out of the liquid metal of these factory
James Cameron - did I only say avatar and liquid metal because I was thinking about James fucking Cameron for Gawd know's what reason, just losing my shit and worrying about Jim fucking Cameron, the titan of blockbusting atom bombs and Aliens/Terminator 2 which leads to Alien Resurrection and also T3: Rise of the Machines. Negligible sequels, and I'm so anxious that someone may be reading over my shoulders this crazy shit, though I know it's stupid and that in the morning all I'll have is that same crushing feeling squirting in the back of my brain that there was a common link and that there is a common link, and the
sex sex and sex and sex
I'm going to brew some coffee and then drink it and maybe continue to sit in the dark and listen to M83 and only worry a little in my big Jewbrain that maybe I've lost it this time, but I'd rather revel in the lunatic glory and drink coffee.
That's the joke. Should I enjoy it and let go, or worry myself that all the pleasures therein are only distracting me from the immediacy and obviousness of whateveritisimlookingfor in androids and silver threads running through all those fucking Philip K Dick skyscraper factories, silver against silver Indiana, and the silver masonic tools are too heavy to drag all the way across state lines.
No, coffee now maybe and maybe later now and later coffee this computer's time clock is completely wrong and says it's 2:34 am and I'm out of my mind.
Transcending shit nightly.
I worry too much, and the keys on this keyboard tend to stick.