2004-01-13 - 10:47 a.m.

I dreamed I was in an Indie movie, except I didn't know it. It was kind of like life, but with a point. The dream was nice, too, trying to weave in and out of crowded entryways while looking for someone I'd lost. I never found her again, but for some reason that was okay, because there was a reason for it. Life with a point. Becoming less hard, less invasive, less tumultous because there is a reason why it is hard, invasive, and tumultous. It must be how the Christians felt when they woke up one morning to a God. But whoever thought of life as invasive?

They who think they are artists are running through the house looking for something to smoke or to play, trying to make the world seem more in tune to them, just not to others. But whoever thought of life as invasive? Especially when the sound of harmonicas and grabbing tongues and fingers reaches you from across a plain of stupidity, pervading your indifference, shattering your mellow, your malcontent, your silence.