The Process

Tag: sleep

Falling Asleep


No Ray

It’s not bad to have been periwinkle

all night, when all other is dead out of the body in the non-world or the

world, and some are missing and some are together, conscious of conscious or

unconscious, unspeakable actions to speak of or unactable spokens to act on…and

then the hunger, too, the hunger on me and how I’ve always

appreciated it for the clarity and desire like potential energy is

exciting in its many possibilities until it picks one.  And I have gone out

in a poof of dousing, as I have come to know it, or I have also had the pulling one

in which I am a fish almost always big enough until morning.  But the pinkness

is funny out the window now, reminds me of a time when I thought God was real and would have

spelled it with a dash, you know, the way a child is powder.  And I want to stay.  Less

egregious this idea of a day nap, now, maybe take it, maybe stay, maybe poof, maybe fish.  Close

eyes to the sound of “No!  No rray!  Sit up, you no ray, prease, no sreep now.”  Despite skeptical wake,

saffron air clear in nose opens eyes, stay, no ray, no sreep.

Autobiography of a Skinless Mind: 12: Conversations







“What did you say?”

“Hero’n scratch?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got the hero’n scratch, you know.  I see it.”

“What the fuck.”

“It’s OK…I know.”

“Know what?  You know nothing.”

“If you didn’t do it you would be more offended.”

“Maybe I think it’s funny.  But you’re wrong.”

“I’m not.”

“So you know because you’ve done it.”

“No.  Look–you even act like a heroin addict.”

“I’m flattered.  Are you drunk?”

“Obviously.  Why else would I say that?”

“Well it was a smart pickup line.  Why don’t you take your messiah complex and head on home.”

“That’s funny…a messiah complex…You may have me there.  It’s just because I’m right.”

“Well you’re not.  You look familiar, by the way.”

“Come on, I mean, the bugs?  They don’t get to you?”

“Ha, the bugs.  They’re only in my dreams.”


“And what.”

“You told Rick you think you go somewhere else when you dream, right?”

“How do you know I said that.”

“I’m right, right?”

“I was sitting on a serpent and there was a huge larvae and these skittery spiders.”

“Told you.”

“Well it’s dreams…you’re about one for two.”

“You barely remember them anyway; who’s to say you didn’t do the drug while you were over there.”

“Over where.”

“In dreams.”

“It is another place.”

“You said I looked familiar.”

“I heard everyone in your dreams is a person you’ve seen in life.”

“Or visa versa.”

“Fucking A.  You know it’s probably true about humans evolving in non-physical ways at this point.”

“You’re at the stage where you can’t imagine having anything in common with–”

“Christopher Columbus.”




“What is full circle when suddenly one could go back to arguing the world is flat and all imaging is illusion.  Or even that maybe we’ll find a new planet to trade up to.  Like I never questioned the fact that my neighbors are noisy and that I can hear them, because my wall is thin since our apartments used to be connected.  And then someone said ‘well that’s annoying,’ and I thought…’well, maybe it actually is annoying.  And maybe I deserve a quiet place with privacy.  And suddenly my mind is on thick walled, air conditioned paradise…yet maybe I like knowing someone I’ve never met has to hear me have sex every once in a while sort of like if a tree falls and no one is there to hear it or this innate desire to impact…and what I’m getting at is imagine we found out there was another planet with some bounty on it and all the fun and everything you need…and we all wanted to leave Earth…but maybe I would miss some of the grime and filth and dissonance.  I would, you know?  I really do enjoy being surrounded by some degree of a society where..everything is sort of like…they wear their genitals on their sleeves, you know?”

“It’s all a bit more vulnerable.”

“Right…like I saw a man in a shirt and slacks after work and he looked so tense and caught up in his life of–and I assume here, because I have no idea–making money, possibly saving up for a nice apartment, etc., but it made me laugh because it seems so unnatural and role-play-ish to act like something more than a wrinkly, purple baby covered in shit and bodily fluids…it seems so presumptuous that the ability to speak gives us anything like a right to have convictions and suppose that we know something about this place we live in…and I learned to pretend I also know what is happening as a survival mechanism.  Or a mechanism to thrive.  The facade of confidence is calming I guess.  Like you have the cow people and the steel people, and if you choose to put on the confidence facade, you get steel, and all the cows feel calm and you tell them where to go and how to feel before the slaughter.  Which is death.  Which is what life is, helping each other to the end, right?

“And you presume this with your words.”

“Touché…I guess it’s a postulation.  Like I don’t fucking know.  I laugh sometimes thinking how the dumb cunts trying in earnest to do everything the society way might actually be right about not thinking about it.  Like maybe they’re the true existentialists.  Maybe everyone else already left the existential crisis behind and chose life while I stayed behind to waste my time thinking about it.”

“Maybe we’re all cows, and then when you sleep, and you go there, you could think about it a little more.”

“This other place we go.  Why is it dark lately.”

“You mean the time when she had your whole outfit on and no one knew you had it first and she was taking your identity.”

“More or less.”

“It’s just not that simple.”

“We can’t lie there, can we?”

“You can, but it’s just a place where there are no dress shirts and everyone has their genitals on their sleeves, as you so eloquently put it, before.”

“You understood.”

“Of course; I always understand you.”

“Why the drug accusation then.”

“You said it was a good line.”


“Are you going to eat the rest of that Cookie Monster cupcake?”

“I thought you knew me.”

“I can still have manners.”

“You like the bottom?”

“My favorite part.”

“Why don’t I know that,”

“We forget things.”

“Like ourselves.”


“Am I wrong?  Are they watching us all the time?”


“Nevermind…Or also, is every person a true person or just a simulation to entertain me.”

“Are you a simulation to entertain me?”

“I don’t know.  I can think and feel…Whatever that means.”

“It’s so cold.”

“You look like Matt Damon; has anyone ever told you?”

“You look like David Bowie.”

“Strange…I did always think I was the only one who didn’t know me, but I thought at least that’s what mirrors were for.”

“Did you just–”

“Hear myself…haha yes.”


“Shut up.  Ugh I feel the diabetes coming.  Take the rest.”

“Your mouth is blue.”


There’s a nostalgic thing to entering
a house these days.  All of us belonging to
caves carved out of decaying siding, sometimes
graves of pissing cats or protection from
the grey weather.  We dwell in dim rooms:
small, scantily blanketed places for sleeping,
fucking, rolling loose joints, or being the
walls.  When there’s silence, there are
voices yanking or softly laughing or sitting
with their balls hanging out of their basketball
shorts.  The mosquitos call us blood brothers.  If
there is a circumcision of establishment, we are
it.  Foreskin houses, it takes longer to find
the kitchen.  Closer in from the grey, maybe.  Makes
a person wonder if Plato drove a Benz (and who
was aware of what) when it sleeps in socks against
dilapidated radiators.  In my dream,
I had a Le Creuset pot.

You Will Shoot Your Eye Out

If you ask what it’s like to be
young in the city I’ll say it’s pre-
Christmas.  All the want and excitement
without the gratification: wanting
like hunger or desire
wets us in anticipation but
eating or loving
ends process.  Are you hungry

yes.  Do you want to eat
no.  Are you tired
yes.  Do you want to sleep
no.  I want to imagine

that there would be this
picnic in paradise followed by
rest and it would be all we need but that’s
all.  Why fate yourself to the getting
up from
the table or bed by sitting or
down.  That’s so January of
you.  You and your resolving–I
could tell you liked January by the
way you eat your steak. I took a
bite of the crispy fat off the side and
that was a simple choice that made
me think: if I could buy groceries,
I might drown in lack of oppression.

//Aladdin and Jean Valjean are the only
ones who understand me//  {grab the
crust and run}  Bobbie Sue, you missed the

The difference between poor and
rich is where the line of integrity
and guilt blurs or hardens.  Have you
played the lottery or
given a seven dollar box of Corn Pops
to a homeless man as you turned up
“Bohemian Rhapsody” to kill his
whining because now you won’t have the

Have you read “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”  It
explains all you need to know about this
conundrum.  Charlatans all thieves; wait
don’t go.  Facades keep want exciting.  Just
yesterday I was thinking how hard it would be
if everyone knew the tear of wrapping
paper was the toll of finality.  Santa,
tailors, penguins, let’s keep the
peace.  Sadomasochism of denied
lending makes me glower but maybe just