Music:johnny b. goode is the only rock & roll on voyager's record.
it isn't like i can't face another night of bad dreams. i find myself, i'll admit, trying to calculate odds on whether i'll throw up tommorow morning. you get so fucking tender when you are protected. i mean- i try to count years sometimes. so jenny came into the picture, what, 7 years ago? was it only that recently? so that is how many years? 21 years of dying every morning without her to cling to. plus another 65,000,000 of absolute loneliness. sometimes, like today for example, all today, i worry that there will be no freedom until i have languished for one billion years. it makes me punch my head. how is this hate to be bourne out upon the world over so long an age? can we get some fucking nukes in the air, motherfuckers? where is truman when i need him. if this was the roosevelt dynasty there would be motherfuckers putting buttons into my hand. frank & teddy both had me in their hearts, keeping them vital & throbbing. though of course, in a diffrent context for each. teddy, i brought into the cult of the gun. & well, if you havn't figured out already that franklin was a litch, then there is no hope for you, is there? so i don't know. i have to look beyond the ash veil of sleep into tommorow. or maybe i don't. but i bet if i died in my sleep that she'd kill me. i don't want to let her down, any more than i do with my carelessness. she needs to try to keep my head on, like the kennedys. maybe her pillbox hat is the all the bunker i'd need. i'm not morose, you understand, just matter of fact. i'm going to go chest deep into the bottomless oceans of sleep; while there, the phantasmagory will be upon me, & so it is no small understatement to call it torture. pains i must endure to call myself mordicai each morning, but still cruel. the growth of bones is a unique pain, within the flesh, & thus it is so. but fuck, this rumbling underneath my sternum keeps calling. anyhow, i miss her, but not terrible so yet. but watch me sink into bed, lay out upon the futon. did i mention she left me her teddy bear? she knows me well enough to know that i'll ascribe some huge symbolic portent to it. which means, concurrently, that it is in fact a huge semiotic event in our romance. she loves me!