They've got my voodoo doll locked up somewhere. Some dark dingy warehouse with the light knifing through the dirt caked windows like banana lava lazer beams. Hell, even the God of the Sun wants a look inside but can't pierce the filth. Just making little funny patterns everywhere and casting light on ominous tools and tables and flooding the assailants in complete darkness. The dust is floating in cyclones in the beams of light. The place is full of it. A draft and the cyclones change direction, lighter than feather, graceful, fluid, an oil and water mixture.
They've got a hefty chunk of lead on the doll's chest. Best to keep me in short breaths,weak, in a lingering state of creeping panic. Not quite there. They've got the head in a miniature washing machine, built just for the occasion, all juiced up and everything, running on a 9 volt. Best to keep me off balance and spiraling in my skin. One of the doll's feet is knee deep in a tiny makeshift grave, the other delicately placed in a tiny bucket of warm water to keep the sensation of a hopeful but unfailing desperation running in cycles. Cycles like the washing machine and the trails of floating dust, its all spinning and graceful natural life.
Tricks? No. Just a bunch of excuses. Confabulation. Left brain cover-up nonsense. There's no voodoo doll of course, though I wish there were, so I could crash through the warehouse wall in my turqoise 95 Nissan Altima and take care of the evil tangible assailants with a few well-filled molotav coctails or something. You know, free my doll. Take the spell off, cause I know voodoo magic. Destroy the doll's remains. Get out of there. Feel so much better! What a weight that has been lifted off my chest! My head is so clear and lucid! I can walk just fine. It would be so simple.
We've been through this so many times. I've been through this so many times. In washing machine cycles. In dust particle cyclones. Here we go again.
Blogger has a glitch that gets stuck on the italics.
So I will finish promptly. There we go, fixed. Fixable....you see?
I think I just need to get back to school again. I think I just need direction again. I think that's what I need. Enough dilly-dallying. Leasure is so great for a while, and then it just kind of sinks into a general pseudo-insanity. For the restless anyway.
How nice it will be to grow old and to retire and to look back and be satisfied.
Yes! I am ready!
Piece.
