Originally Posted Wednesday, February 13, 2013
My head is full of phrases and old music from scratchy records played on gramophones. It is like one of David Lynch's experiments. People around me seem hostile in some mocking way. When I talk I say one or two sentences too many. "Stop it," I tell myself, but before I know it, I've said more. I match them mockery for perceived mockery. There is nothing but evil and stupidity wherever I look. I try to stay away from the mirror.
"I wish I was in a land forgotten / old times there are just like cotton. . . ."
"Try some of this, boy. It will put hair on your palms, make a man outaya."
Rabbit ears on the old black and white t.v. set that I twist and turn trying to get better reception.
"Try some tin foil. Hold it. . . right there. . . that's good. . . . Shit!"
Johnny Weismuller wrestling a giant alligator doll, stabbing it with a knife as he rolls it over and over.
It is late. I must hurry. I have meetings all day at the factory.
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