A great sadness

Some people enjoy deja vu, maybe for that rare glimpse of clairvoyance. For me it always shows up holding hands with a great sadness.

I used my brain to do some thinking about this. Like most people I usually attribute the ‘previous’ experience to a dream. The problem is that I suddenly feel I am dreaming at the moment of deja vu. If you can’t tell the difference between life and dreams, you are in big trouble.

Stupid reality. You have one job, to be real. Hey reality, way to really suck.

Tacos and hotdogs

I am going to do something nice and stupid, and recount an embarrassing dream for all of you.

In my dream my friend had spent the night at my place and woken up just before me. She was looking through my closet, and found a chrome handgun. She began disinterestedly pulling the trigger and the unloaded gun just clicked in response. From the bed, over the hollow clicking sounds, I said “I am glad I don’t have any bullets for my gun”

God damn your eyes, you stupid things that symbolize things. Hey everybody, look over here. Look, everybody, I am a retarded dude.

A great sadness

Being old is pretty sad, dudes. Sitting around in elasticated pants reading the obituaries each day to see which of your friends has died. Today, while I was at the foodcourt with Jas, I witnessed sad-oldness in action: an old man sitting alone at a table, reading only a subscription card for Soap Opera Digest. Furrowing his brow in a vain attempt to understand what he was reading, this old man brought me face to face with the unalterable doom of my youth. Let’s go fly kites and eat popcorn guys, before our joints fill with minerals and our teeth get dementia and wander on to the wrong bus, abandoning our jaws.