Que hubo? Bright lights, slippery ice. 1, 2, 3, doored. My planar reality is shifting on the d axis. Combination plates, egg rolls and enchiladas. Subconcious overboard. Starboard. Dance with me, Star machine. All gone down. Davey Jones can go sit in the crows nest. Give me the deed. Little Johnny said he already went up the apple tree and all the apples flew away. But there was a crow, and he said in between the eye in his beak that the party is already over. Might as well use the rope. Sunshine in my window, lapping my face. The day as golden as Midas. Digital interfaces snoring, and the manual override hard to press on. The trail grows wide and we make three days progress. I sit beneath my desk afraid of the dark. Where is the hood? You always have a hood on. Rhubarb. Stepping on shattered marbles, their glimmer whispers the duality of allusion is really an illusion of singularity playing a trick. Yesterday is going to be great. I smelled the flowers and ate them too. Screw the cake. What good is a knee if the water isnt hard. San Jose, crazy cool. Opiate destiny exhaled, but lingers like stale trash. Should have recycled.