mealy head of fuzzy wollybears. the other night had a dream about fucking...macaulay culkin? done in the style of a fictional documentary. you know, one of those awful feel bad magical realism movies that make me sick to my stomach with hate. he was sitting on a beach under a propped up log, poking at the fire with a stick, with a typewriter in a suitcase next to him. in the next "gutwrenching" jump cut, he is standing up looking into the water, holding the suitcase typewriter in his hand. behind him, his father is throwing pitchfork shaped logs from the fire at him, screaming something. i think macaulay culkin is deaf? his mother screams, in slow motion "its his! its his!" & throws a big twenty pound (20 lb.) sledge at the dad like an olympic hammer toss. the father catches his, uses the momentul to turn, & charges the mom, tripping her with it but running face first at full speed into the wall of the barn. when the boy comes over to look at their broken bodies, you can see that the top of his head has been shorn clean off, exposing an empty skull. he goes into the bar & hammers metal knobs & spools into the bone inside his hollow head, then starts threading ribbon through it while chittering sprites taunt him.
now i'm sitting here in my apartment waiting for the cable guy to show up. also, the water is turned off in my building.