I could handle my grandmother eating out of an ashtray and my father screaming obscenities as he drove a rocket propelled flamingo into my childhood home. But my dreams are too real, no longer fun flights of fancy, they're full of uncomfortable moments—eating beans with my roommate who keeps berating me for not doing the dishes, and wants to cut my hair or else sad long attempts at writing the great American novel that just dissolves in my hands as soon as it starts to get good...boring shit that for whatever reason embeds itself into my mind like a freeloading tick, so I have to question myself, dreams have taken up valuable space, like, I remember this happening, right now, yes, Bob you are going to call me while I'm eating chips and tell me my teeth are going to fall out but its ok because the whales are dying—and for some reason I can't stop remembering you mentioning the whales and the teeth. Why am I using up valuable brain harddrive space with crazy nonsense that my brain came up with due to some random firing of synaptic bio-neuro-chemical-whatevers that occured while I was in a state of comotose-insanity called sleep?
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