Well, I was awoken by demons this morning in my head playing with my dream as if it were an Italian soccer toy: Go Roma!
Dove la biblioteca? I said. But my interlocutor was illiterate. So much mangia goodness, plenty of pasta sauce, abattoir hooks to die for, speed bag routines to tenderize the meat. Joey "Who Could See It Coming Liftng Up His Fork (h/t Dylan or he'll sue)" Gallo said, "I can't believe I ate the whole thing. That's some spicy meatball." Maybe it was 1970 rerun dream.
But that was part of the dream and now the raging mob is coming at me, "insulted" by my dreaming (not its contents). Cogito has been outlawed. You Glow You Pay is the new slogan. Welcome to the new world order. I'm delirious. The axe men cometh, saying This Is Australia, a conservative country. You have friends from here who smile, right? They'll fill you in. Good luck.
I cough, is my point. I'm feeling frisky. But, goddamn, liten to my cough1
Can't it be much longer before I cark it, as the Aussies say and say and say. Then BOOM the hand comes up from under the boogieman bed and grabs you and pulls you down to where the hanging lint is ancient and someone hands you a box of matches.
light...light...light....
