Status Updates From Black Dog: The Dreams of Pa...

How can this delicate perfection exist in the same world as a
140-ton howitzer firing 1,000 kg
shells that propel hot metal shrapnel into soft human tissue, into minds protected by perfectly proportioned, frangible shells?

The blue-green luminosity
of this tiny egg...
The translucence just enough to allow a faint, pulsing glow of pinky orange from the yolk within, blood-vessel hairlines more delicate and diffuse than
any Renaissance hand could have drawn.

A real masterwork. Stream of consciousness comic. Very dreamlike / Hallucinatory

I've become careless, forgetful, you know that disconnected feeling.
You walk into a room, and feel that something's missing.

You can't find your keys,
or your bearings,
or the right words,
or the reason why you're staring
at a mirror.
At the lines on your face.

I leave little pieces
of myself,
scattered about the place.

And I long for life, for time and freedom, to be surrounded by careless and idle chatter.

IF...the cosine of 2n pi equals 2x, where n is an integer number, WHAT is x?

IF...the clothesline of two egg pies equals Trieste, where Ben is an interminable numpty, WHAT is sex?

A confetti of embers and ash

Like a diver pushing off the bottom of the ocean.
Like a vague and hazy memory in slow motion.

I didn't always fall.

Sometimes I felt the texture of the air beneath my boots.