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I hate it when my alarm goes off mid-dream.

January 13, 2009


my eyelids are melting into a pot of coffee that is supposed to be holding them up. What is wrong with this structure formation?

All that will be remaining is a scaffolding-pot and two gaping eyeballs that can never close. And where will the water come from? My eyes will become like the parched desert (not the beautiful winter desert but the barren summer desert with those harsh hot winds and the heat that rises from the asphalt that you could cook eggs on if you would eat them afterwards) and whatever soul is supposed to come shining through will run into the dry cracked river bed that was once my cornea and will have to come out of my nose instead.

Oh dear. Oh dear me. This isn’t good at all.

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