skilled venison

miniature men
  -or-
(just)maintaining

(16)
things just got introspective, incisive...although, upon reflection, i am stating something repetitive. i
got errands to run and my morning pills to take. i felt a chill abetting bodily aches that my mind, still spinning, had
trouble locating. my solution is to chase nexium w/ a shot of wray & son's: 63% strong and should

help with the shakes. this day has been a day long and it's not even been (twenty-four) hours. i lit a cig.

(13)
started wondering about the possible visual similarity of a human brain scan and cumulus clouds; i thought it
was a thought worth thinking, and then, writing about, but i can't think I must
resort to my
intuition: chug some alcohol. throat burns, eyes water, decision definitely questioned by stomach. sumac goes
to red, but i hold the bile down, both figuratively and literally. it's a real tour de france in my frontal
lance armstrong and a ghost whispers 'go occipital.'

(15)
finally passed out, dreamnt abt tings. intrsting, an earlee sigbrine nukles out...woke up and said that is some
twin peaks stupid, weird shit, quotation marks enhanced. there was a black lodge, implying i have hunted. lying,
crumpled, on an ornate carpet my grandmother made, i inhale twice, exhale my dreams' vagaries and rise like a
zombie. i  notice my copy of walking dead s.2 and shake my head in reprobate.

(14)
my brain is afire, which is in direct contrast to my previous feeling of being pulled underwater.
contra(d)dictions glom on, like my attempt to decode words on a nazi submarine, non sequitur. i think i need some sleep,
but the walls keep closing in, trash-compacting. i decided to switch seats and am now on the floor flipping through
channels. my tv is 3d capable, and i have an extensive collection of cooperative blu-rays but i worry about the
eye-strain.