Day DoS

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 It's 10:05 p.m. in San Antonio, Texas. I have a clay mask on my face. Soon I will bathe and get in bed with a stack of books. I'm listening to my latest video. I'm obsessed with creating videos and uploading them to YouTube. The process is addictive. Most of my videos are subliminals. You cannot hear my voice underneath all the layers of noise saying things like, "I have so much money it's ridiculous. I am energetic and healthy as hell. Money comes to me. It has no choice. Love. Yes. I am deeply loved. I am respected. I am valued." What will happen to me? What will happen to any of us? We get maybe a hundred years down here but that's pretty fucking rare. I'm not a materialist. I've never at any point been an atheist or even an agnostic. I was brainwashed with the usual Jesus noise in rural Texas. There's no escaping the Jesus noise if you were born in rural Texas in 1973. "Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine." Patti Smith said that. "Ax murderers are better than writers. They only kill you once." I said that. Bob Dylan will let you be in his dreams if he can be in yours. I never dream of Bob Dylan. Last night I dreamed of my maternal grandmother. She's still alive. Are you still alive? Prove it. Go bowling or something.

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