I don't think it's a good idea to read "Transmetropolitan" and lie down to sleep when you're very likely going to have fever dreams. Even my waking thoughts run a bit like a fever dream. Bunnyman is very likely mad at me but there's not much I can do about it, all I want is to not leave. The cold worms are making their egg sacs in my skin once again and though I'd like company now they talk too damn much. I was thinking that if someone put a hit out on me we could run to Tallahassee and be a political couple. I think they broke in and filled my lungs with legos. A hit would have been easier.
I am amazed at my typing ability. It's hard to breathe and apparently I've ruined someone's plans. Hunger is not an issue. It's the new implants. No, my ravings won't stop them 'cos they're cocky with their pepper spray, but it won't work on legos.
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go die now. Ressurrection on Sunday. Bring your friends.
1 comment:
That's the first rule in the book! Don't eat chicken or read Transmetropolitan before going to bed! I thought everyone new that.
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