CRACK BREAK

20:24

stronger than espresso:

All of it gets put into the vise, into the crushing and inexorable pressure of brass teeth gnawing at a circular wedge. What falls away, what comes back, what in all the possible colors of moral polarization could never pass through my head in one piece turns to miserable and grinning corpse dust, atomic and rough against the walls as if glued. So what if it's the other way, after all? There is no place to stand, no lens perverse enough to view absolutes (elegant and impossibly sharp) in their own space. The shadow, the projection, and maybe the specular component poke gently against your retina. That's all anyone can take, really.

Physically, I am on the bus. Ungainly, greasy, and mottled pair of adult men sit on the raised seats directly over the wheels behind me.

Earnest, almost screeching voice: "Yup, we got our thrones. Kings of our dominion."

Tired, wavering and low-pitched: "Yuhh. What time is it, 6:35? Ah, we'll make it."

E: "Like I was sayin', she's a bodybuilder, it's part of her training. She un-dresses you, rubs you down with baby powder, puts this big adult sized diaper on you and puts you in one a those big bassinets! Then you just watch TV all day, if you shit your pants, she just treats you like a big baby, washes you off and changes your diaper. You get a bottle wit your favrit drink innit... it's like vacation."

T: "It's like being a vegetable."

E: "No, man! It's a nice vacation! Don't you ever want to just sit around watching TV, not having to go to the bathroom when somethin good is on? She feeds you.. foood, whatever you like!"

T: "What kind of vegetable do you want to be?"

E: "I'm just relaxin! It's part of her trainin, she's a bodybuilder. She can just pick me up."

T: "I know. You're a squash."

E: "You get any kind of good pills you want! She'll be like 'prescription time!' and she'll give you the pills! She's got a license to practice medicine."

T: "She's a doctor?"

E: "Yeah, she can practice medicine."

T: "Squash."

[conversation continues as we continue through the U-district towards downtown, the tired guy repeating his "squash" refrain.]

[everyone on the bus can hear this very loud weirdo behind me, and they are turning to smirk at him.]

T: "If we don't hurry, we're gonna miss it."

E: "Hey, she's got food back at the apartment."

T: "No...SHE doesn't exist."

E: "I could go back there and have whatever I want!"

T: "SHE doesn't exist, and you are full of bullshit."

E: "Hey, I don't wanna tell you about the place, cause then everyone will want to go there. And you can't get that right away, she has to get to know you first and then one day you can go 'I'm into a kinda unusual appetites.' and she'll be like 'Umm!'."

T: "You're psychotic."

[andr00 gets off the crazy bus.]

So, in case anyone was wondering what kind of fantasies homeless men have, that guy seems like a pretty good example. Food and comfort.

I really need to go to sleep right now, but I know that if I do I am going to wake up at ferking one zero zero am.