much needed whatever

as i was falling asleep i half dreamt that i would write about this giant pillar that is inside all of us. and it is in the middle of us, in the middle of our rib cage and lungs and hearts and in a museum that's shut down and locked. and we're all standing around the pillar and holding hands and looking outward and none of us ever see it. maybe we see the shadow and maybe we feel its looming presence but none of us ever sees it. except for me. and i turn around and i run my hands across its cold rippled cement, tiny bumps and craters, and i put my ear to it and listen to it deafly. and i describe it to everyone and its exactly what we've all been missing.

i have an imagine stuck in my head. it's of my apartment and the light that comes in the living room window. in the day time when the sun makes its slow arc and casts in the light, the projection on th wall makes a slow rise and fall on the opposing wall. the light is always alive and bright and pulsing. it has a slow motion like someone wading upstream. then at night there is an awful streetlight that pours harsh orange artificial light into the room. and the projection just sits there perfectly still. mechanically still. and sometimes i stand up and make my silhouette in this orange glow and feel akin.

some phrases are in my head. "virgin disco" and some others i forgot. so that's the only one right now.

i can feel my bowels loosening already as i write this down. i wish i were really writing it down and not just typing it but i forget too much that way. i am a slow writer. i wish i weren't so afraid to do anything all the time. i wish i wrote down things right away.

another image i have in my head is of having a woman sleep in my bed. something like the recluse. and i dont take advantage of her if she is drunk or her of me and we dont have sex or anything like that. she just sleeps and i sleep somewhere else. the next day when i am alone again i take a shower and am all fresh and relaxed and my sinuses and senses are all clean and i lay down in my bed naked and face down and breathe in what she smells like. and sometimes it is earthy and full of cinammon and something comforting old. and sometimes it is sweet and bright and i get an erection. and i never tell her about it or see her again

i have an image of a man who is in power, political power or business power or drug power, who hates women so much he pays prostitutes or whoever to have sex with him. but instead he just ashes his cigarette or cigar into their vaginas. and then i realize i am aping bret easton ellis. and that i am too much of that person than i will admit and i am a coward and cant talk with women.

i want to write another magic realism peace and i want to edit my old stuff. that's what i am doing tomorrow. i am not sure where to go yet. i will text whitney for a location.

i want to make music and be the creative lead. i want to play drums very well.