T R U T H

Right after hearing about Lou Reed dying, the song Sweet Jane played in my head and I mind-mumbled the few words I remembered. Next thought was recalling how pissed he was when Ziggy Stardust came out, bleating that Bowie stole his act. Can't imagine why that was important enough for me to remember it 40 years later. Or maybe I should be taking it as a wake up call to relive the essence of the cataclysmic 70s. That would make sense if the days weren't living what dreams foretold and nights have new dreams like:

She wakes up and screams; I wake up and she 's running down the stairs and I sit up to go after her and find out what's wrong and I look down and there's this little me attached to my groin and it's looking up at me saying "you shouldn't have wished for this." "Wished for what?" I asked. "take a look at yourself." I stood up and saw in the mirror that I was a 6 foot tall dick with a little man where my dick used to be. Then a commercial came on the TV and said "don't be burdened by what to do with your elongated ball bag - tuck 'em away in a Scrot Tote and go about your business feeling secure and nicely scrunched". Was it all those years of 'bating and all the current jokes about it by stand ups? Bedlam, I tell you. But it's not like being disenfranchised or anything like that. White people problems

back to 9s. Clenched into deep sleep last night by lady parts. Hurry on over to Fartland.