spanneticuts

I write in my sleep, often search for words and the meaning thereof, like "spanneticuts" as I awoke from a nap. No idea what I was trying to express. The ties between people and shared notions that bind them to an illusion, I think. Short circuits that choke the truth. Bored with dumbshit bartender Hannity repeating himself again, I changed the channel. NPR announced that Reddit has rewritten its rules, banned hate speech and incitement to violence.

KILL, PUSSYCAT, KILL!   (I lack imagination today.)

Alice Cooper is 100 times sharper than I am. A record company clod challenged him to rhyme the word "orange." Without hesitation, Cooper said: "Door hinge."

.

The Woman In My Dreams

It's impossible. She belongs to someone else. She's beautiful, intuitive, healthy, my equal in every way, and she comes because she cares about me. I beg her to go away and she ignores me, stays for inexplicable reasons of her own. I'm old and ugly, don't want her to touch me, and her presence is painful because I need her so much.

It's a damn dream, so stop it, just stop it. Every moment is golden and warm. Her clothing is expensive and casual and simple, office attire that fits her comfortably and slips as silently as water on her thigh. She knows me, and it tugs at her conscience, doesn't want to be here.

So, go. Just go. I can't please you, can't smile, can't stand straight and tall as a man, too late in life for romance, no matter how much I want it again, haunting me while I sleep at night. I'm helpless when I dream. The truth does whatever it will.

You know what's funny? I write in my dreams, whole stories, polished phrases and scenes that I remember a few minutes when I awaken and then forget when I get out of bed to free the dog, wash my face, brush my teeth. Betty reported that carpenters build in their sleep. Do priests pray and Democrats concoct lies when they dream, or is it vice versa?

.