In my dream last night, a streetwalker woman with enormous red lips shot me with a tiny revolver. I snatched it and tried to shoot her but it jammed in my hand. Then I woke with her in my bed and we were romantically involved and business partners (read: drug runners). Then I woke up in Los Angeles and I couldn't catch my breath.
It's 4am and I've been asleep long enough. My alarm is set for 5, but I can't stay down. Give me that sweet sweet highway.
Pops said to me, before I left SF, "Keep up the blog, so at least we'll know what you're dreaming…if not what you're actually doing."
And what are we but our dreams? Hopefully something, or I think I'm fucked in the head.
I'm sitting in the bathroom to write this so I don't wake up Knuckles. Sleep on little Knuckles, sleep on.
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