I have strange vicodin dreams where I'm married to somewhat famous women and am forced to do the taxes of the exiled, or come face to face with living breathing SAT word problems. Apparently my subconcious can control time and space but not sexual preference, I'm party trick at best. It's not a surreal dreamscape so much as mixed-up brainfiles, and it's getting harder to deal with the snooze portion of my mornings.
That band Slint is overrated.
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