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Red roadmaps and inkblots, red polka-dots

Posted by on May 13, 2004

Dreamed I was drumming. “Well, fuck me,” I thought, as the song started and I began tapping my sporks on the table frantically. “I have no sense of rhythm. How the hell did I get here?”

Woke up to a nosebleed from the stress of the dream. Little butterflies of blood now fluttering around on tissues in my trash. “Well, fuck me,” I think, as I stare at my half-completed Ginsberg paper. “I have no sense of the Beats. How the hell did I get here?”

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