closed eyes in the dark
So, um, is it a good thing or a bad thing that one day of William Burroughs results in one incredibly explicit erotic dream?
I think I'm a little afraid of my subconscious at the moment...
You see the priests were nothing but word and image, an old film rolling on and on with dead actors ... a blue fluid of heavy cold silence as word dust fell from demagnetized patterns ... hands empty of hunger on the sick breakfast table ... winds of sickness through his face ... woke in the filtered green light, thistle shadows cutting ... ruptured spines ...
Maybe I should dip back into Ulysses after this.
Or, ha, maybe it was just Jack and Irina with the tracker and then the van door sliding open. Oh god, how I cried. And yet the diabolical magnificence of Jack.
I think I'm a little afraid of my subconscious at the moment...
You see the priests were nothing but word and image, an old film rolling on and on with dead actors ... a blue fluid of heavy cold silence as word dust fell from demagnetized patterns ... hands empty of hunger on the sick breakfast table ... winds of sickness through his face ... woke in the filtered green light, thistle shadows cutting ... ruptured spines ...
Maybe I should dip back into Ulysses after this.
Or, ha, maybe it was just Jack and Irina with the tracker and then the van door sliding open. Oh god, how I cried. And yet the diabolical magnificence of Jack.