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Saturday, August 12, 2006


I wake up and find myself here: leather seat, cigar smoked and coffee stained. It’s night or it’s black, I can’t tell. I find that I am in nondescript clothing and they aren’t mine. There’s a music playing that sounds muffled. I hear babies crying and I see blood dripping from trees as they move past.


I’m moving. Where the hell am I? I stand up and find that I am in a pretty small room. My feet find their balance and I feel like I am surfing the bus. When I was in high school, I’d surf the public transit. Meaning, germs were on the handles so I didn’t dare touch. So I surfed. Make sense? Good.

A scream comes from somewhere. Or is it the whistle? Whistle? Wait, am I on a train?!? How the fuck did this happen?

Memory loss.

I open the door and find the hallway packed with people. But they seem to be in a frozen catatonic state. It’s packed like sardines in here. It smells worse. I hear flatulence and I see death. I squeeze through this mess and feel random fluids on my skin. Someone’s breath becomes part of my neck and my hair. Urine is the cologne I smell.


The room I pass through is the dining car, I believe. There are empty plates and scattered utensils on the tables and some on the floor. I see dog men eating from a dish on the floor over there. And over here, there’s a half naked fat lady and she’s cutting his arm and letting the blood drip on her bare breasts. She looks at me and tells me it’s art. I look down and I find the nondescript clothes I was wearing are no more. I am dressed in stripes. Black and white. Red, all over?

Steam engine.

There’s a man in the back of this next room and he is shovelling coal. Shoveling coal, to where? Steam engine? Feeding the beast. Making it move through the night like a comet with a purpose. He looks at me and smiles. His breath reaches me in a dream like cartoon state and it motions me forward. His clothes are dirty and torn. He has an oily essence and he speaks in Portuguese.

Eyes close.

I still feel movement but suddenly all is lost visually. Hands are on me, covering me. Jerking me and poking me. I feel my clothes removed. I feel invaded and I feel pursuaded. Laughter and babies cries and scream and bloody tits. Cigar stains and coffee scent. The man shovels coal to keep the moon happy.


I wake up and find myself here: leather seat, cigar smoked and coffee stained.

It’s night or it’s black, I can’t tell.

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