the welfare ball

Four EZ swallow sleep caplets. Three EZ swallow sleep caplets. Two EZ swallow sleep caplets. One EZ swallow sleep caplet. Caplet. Caplet.

Mint-flavored meshickles. Industry enabled me. The soft tip of its most tender tendril found me. I puckered up to that sucker. Euphio slow dance on the planetarium ceiling.

Sobriety is no longer sacred and unsullied. That being said, I never qualified for the welfare ball. I do qualify for many varieties of medication. Just none of the fun stuff. Those days are gone. Now there's nothing left to do, but put on a beret and defend Canada against the invaders - post-revolutionary society, might as well get on with it. Be a hero, sigh. Or at least assume the heroic suffering of the victim, even if he didn't really do anything, except get hurt.

Some people are still picking up their welfare balls. I admire them, for having the courage, and the coke connections, the best kind of connection, to spend their entire government check for the next two weeks on cocaine. That’s a kind of commitment I can respect. Even now, there are people picking up balls. In the big city, there’s convenience, there’s phone numbers on bic lighters with “24/7” written under them, in adorably precise penmanship. In the dawn of the fifth reich, with the deutche-mark worth one tenth of its value, and the streets mostly clean of the blatant heavies who moved into town to deal blackjack, there are people connecting. A submersible got through from Peru. That’s fifteen tons.

That drawer is for tongs. That drawer is for whisks. This drawer is for "some brunch spoons". The label doesn't lie. You'll find some brunch spoons in here. They'll be used, they'll be stored, they'll be taken.

That shelf is for Robitussin Honey Cough. There's a serrated wooden cylinder with honey dripping off it. The color scheme is honey browns, there's a homely feel about it. The aesthetics were designed to be consistent with the Honey Cough. It's honey flavoured.

Earl Mason ordered 6 assorted donuts. They were put into a bag and delivered to Meadow Creek.

Four EZ swallow sleep caplets. I want winter to come and consume me. This warmth is empty. Fuzzy logic. Fly on the wall. Sweaty velcro. Flaccidity.

Thank you, people who put on fireworks. It was enough to raise my over-rested eyes for a few minutes. Oversleep. I'm superhuman in the subconscious. Sleep caplets. EZ swallow. It ain't working. It's trail's bridge. Nothing's sacred except the things I can't think of. It's become a long slog through the swamp. Nothing's sacred, least of all, the self. The body's a casino. I beat my heart. Here's one beat. Here's another. Here's one more. Oh, what a streak, what a streak of heart-beats. I feel lucky, body temperature is thirty-seven degrees, and I'm chewing on trident gum. I lost my toothbrush, I don't have enough underwear. What color will my crap be today? Stay tuned.