The fucking alarm clock! The alarm rang and rang and I woke up leaving Bobo in the realm of fantasy. Marci was all ready up, I could hear her cooking breakfast in the kitchen. My girl, what a life... a cocaine freak, she'd probably all ready got off. Oh well, least she paid for her own. Jesus I loved playing guitar in a rock and roll band, there was nothing like it... the money and the babes... right now I was running through one coke whore after another... it was wonderful...my drug of course... I wouldn't use the shit... I was pure as the driven snow... the cruelest most insane trip of all.

I'd been troubled by these fantasies for a long time so I'd went to this shrink in Palo Alto, he came highly recommended by this drummer I knew who committed suicide in a swimming pool, cut his own throat with a small samurai sword and pitched forward into the crystalline waters in clouds of red... my mind won't slow down and I gotta play tonight... I remember the old days when I was in my twenties and I'd go screaming through the Seattle streets higher than insanity in clouds of destiny It don't matter how it sounds, worse is better, the world is a whore.

Who am I... I'm my own worst nightmare...I'm the man who can't stand amid the darkness that is coming down... The jungle was dark and damp... we'd been three days escaping the panther that was stalking us. First he'd eaten the dogs, the porters... it was Bobo and I who found entrance to the cave which dove deep within the Brazilian depths and found the mountain of gold. Gold is the most plentiful substance on earth which is why it is the most valuable. The center of the earth is pure gold, molten and frothing far beneath the surface. It's an inverse reaction to the laws of physics... you'd think the heaviest particles would go flying out as the earth spins but that isn't the way it works, it's a fantastic dynamo that will eventually crash into the sun taking all but the sons of Zenon and their slaves with it... and that's Bobo's and my mission, to stock the slave pens of Zenon.

Zenon, our home planet is a wonderful place, much like earth, except that we have harnessed atomic power. I said harnessed, not released, as the poor idiot physicists of earth have accomplished. We on Zenon are about to accomplish one of the greatest feats of mankind, for we are men and that is the transmigration of reproduction to the higher level. That means we are about to impregnate another universe.

Okay, for those of you who are trapped in conventional physics... don't be, it ain't worth it, there ain't no end to nothing... and everything goes inward forever and outward there is no end, but on a certain level, on the dial of my watch there are molecules that have electrons spinning around them. Now on one of those electrons stands a man looking at a watch... and on that watch on his electron microscopic level there is a dial that has molecules with electrons spinning around it on which stands another man looking at... you got it a watch... and looking at my watch I look up at dad whose wearing a watch and checking it out... it's time for me to enter another dimension... the dimension of delight. She's blonde and fifteen, smarter than a whip and dad's got a hard on for her that won't quit. White light, testosterone, he loves it and he stalks her in fantasies that are beyond the craziest moments of life... he wants to kiss her toes and lick her pussy as she murmurs in ecstasy that's why we left those bimbo cop bitches languishing in the slave pens of Zenon.

Lingering on the edge of a beer wondering if I should kill myself or if fear means loathing in the insatiable sea of sobriety. People live like that and the world keeps going round and we want to make something of it, but there ain't much too it but the mastery of the art the chilling hours spent alone when the sea is the only friend and we live a life harder than that just the edge of insanity on the other side of dimensions of peace, the rising moment resists and we twist to the calling of our hearts, there is more than just errant darts, there are real people doing real things in enchanting isles on the primal dream of a scream which is too real to deal with in the moment of the mirror we are here were there are writing off the top of our head and love it though to sell it is a crime we look then rhyme, rhythm a symphony, claxophony.