twentyonehundred.

spoiler alert:
blog post 2100 has no pictures. 
gross.
so much for reading it, huh?
see you next post, friends.
***********
duders,
the sound of somnolence is synonymous with
the rapping tap of raindrops dripping down on my roof.
...and it is totally F*ing expert.
seriously.
as long as the terrible long labor day weekend weather holds,
i'll be slumbering my way to dreamland every night.
every. single. night.
for realsies.
something about the white-noisy waterfall of rejuvenating condensation
condescends to comfort the folks in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
for sure.
and, as always, i really just mean only me when i speak in plurals.
awwwwwwww.
still,
a sound night'sworth of nightsounds to soothe the savage beast.
otherwise,
the doom of an active mind is to roam and wander into the worst recesses
of it's own labyrinth, because really real thoughts hide out in the late times.
and damn if that's not a hard style.
*
now,
don't mistake my meaning:
i still think sleeping is basically a waste of time,
but, just as, like, a novelty once in a while?
yeah. its okay, i guess.
besides,
i've been remembering my dreams during all this hibernation.
that's a thing, too, these days.
what?
no.
everybody says that,
but it's actually less awesome than it might initially seem..
no jokes.
i think i might be a little teeny tiny bit F*ed up.
just a pinch of apesh!t bananas, certainly,
but enough to flavor my deepest r.e.m. desires with full-blown
Id-fueled berserker blood, lust, bloodlust, and rhetoric.
yikes.
the words and pictures in my head are not good for you, kids.
i promise.
night terrors that i'm not even scared of,
but that are definitely scary?
yeah.
embracing the blackest holes and dirtiest dark secrets.
thanks, rainfall,
for helping wash my covert psyche into overt psycho culverts.
that's a thing.
***********
how is august almost over already?
time flies with icarus wings.
uh-oh.
that's that dissolving-joy-type jauns.
really.
my daughters are back in school,
the long weekend is kicking off tonight.
regular people are getting ready for their last drunken hurrah,
and the light is failing as dusk creeps up sooner every damn day.
oh,
and instead of enjoying the good ol'-time american tradition
of barbarian barbecution?
ummm,
that's right, neighbors.
i'm tattbombing the whole time.
yuuuuuup.
that's one great big big batch of sh!t-salad,
smothered in dollops of doo-doo buttery ideas.
great.
i hope it never stops raining.
because i enjoy company,
even if it's only commiserate misery;
never quiet, never soft.....