Asbestos & The Dopamine Conductor

 I saw a hand on my sheet and my mind returned to the bleating sheep folding into the covers pooling on the bed machine beast this is such a claw foot tub full of dust and certain words. The bird flipped a spool in a pebble whirlpool among soft bubbles as the horse and the dog watched on. Bubba took a bath in a plastic tub before going to the synagogue in fear of hell and a case full of shmatas. Alice wore boots. She sat in a chair scattering seeds in the grass as bugs and mice laughed at their soft probes, pillow mackerel. Yes, speed glass boom, this pen is filled with fog. Sand and green bush, wet flower-drip, Magnolia, like a hand. I tell time in snow and so make your port now. Rain nails the slush in a bedchamber of the orchestra with cello and violin. Human voices follow me down. Tinny rinky-dink sound of cotton batting and the scrunch of fibre strings.

Borderlanders, rat-baiting, psychological warfare and marginalia.

Michel Poiccard: There's no need to lie. It's like poker. The truth is best. The others still think you're bluffing, so you win.


Blogs are reckless.
perhaps that’s why I finally gave in to the existential pressures of the Y-generation and enlisted in the brazen hedonism of the windless region of hyperspace blogging i am a borderlander in the port of entry my deep foot prints on the muddy Y-generation zone filling rather quickly as I’m about to cross over and stomp into the jurisdiction of the Z-generation suspended in a liquid element behind a luminous screen growing up in The Big City on the Canadian Prairies I didn’t receive enough attention from my emotionally unavailable parents both busy executives of small corporations and that is why I deeply desire to leave behind spectral evidence of my existence please world love me! so in the spirit of self-serving rebellion I moved into the basement suite of my maternal uncle’s home in Langley BC and decided to kick off the new year with a gift to myself and the world The Personal Blog observations so far if the Prairie air is arid by virtue of geography the air on the West Coast is soggy hence a better conductor for electric current and perhaps even charged thought paradoxically and unfortunately the cultural atmosphere in BC is more phlegmatic than magnetic the Mountains and the Ocean dole out tranquilizers for the bitter tears of Zaftig von Cellar Rat.

Word count: 220. Time: 20 min.