“You never know what you’ll find when you pull the top sheet away.

You never know how deep the red sinks in until you pull back the other layers…”Image result for skull paragraph divider

27 May 2018

Image result for skull paragraph divider

26 May 2018

I wasn’t exactly sure what this page was going to be for, for a long time. I had the title and the blog page just sitting there–empty–and I liked it because it sounded all morose, deep, dark, bloody–very gothy–and then I didn’t do anything with it. It only recently occurred to me that it would make a great “dream” diary. Or not. I mean, nobody follows me anyway. It isn’t like anyone cares that much what I have to say, right? In the real world, I can’t get a word in edgewise without being interrupted and/or being told that I’m wrong because of something that is based on an ‘alternative fact’ or something someone’s cousin found out from a friend last year on a holiday in Austraila from the bartender who served them at 2AM. (Yes, that does sound like whining–poor me–no, I don’t want to hurt myself, or others–okay–sometimes I do, but I’m not going to–not really. Only on paper or electrons, which thankfully isn’t illegal–yet.)

Yes. The world is busy spinning around on its axis a million miles a minute– (not literally, so if anyone DOES actually take time to read my friggin Bloody Sheets don’t wave the “facts” at me targeting that–it’s a bloody saying–okay?) –people are dying and being born each second–and so friggin what? Might as well use some blank electron spaces to cyber-ink past, present and future dreams. Or random thoughts. Or a political muse–no, not politics–too controversial and scary! Throw down a theory or two in the process maybe? It’s not like it will make a difference. It’s not like anyone will care anyhow.

And no, I’ve got no dream to throw down on the page today. Last night was too muddled. One of the reasons? I tried a freaking oral “snore-stop”/mouthpiece that’s supposed to hold your tongue in place and keep you from snoring–something that’s supposed to help a person with sleep apnea because I gave back my C-Pap machine to the VA. Why? Because I felt like the thing from Alien was glued to my face every time I used it, no matter what face-piece I tried. Because I like to sleep on my stomach and because my hips hurt and I can’t stay still at night, and that long hose attached to a box with distilled water still seems like a bubbling petri dish and the commercial that talks about how it needs to be sanitized every day doesn’t make me feel any better about it. Given all of that–I’m not even sure I had a dream last night. I think all of that shit scared any dreams I could have had right the hell away. And there’s something else to mull. How often is it that the human scares the night terrors away? Hmmm.

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