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Published June 23, 2008

the humidity of this station is suffocating my ability to reason. i try to move but instead of just grabbing my drink i rage out and hurl across the store sceaming uncontrollably , "CAN YOU NOT SEE THE MOON?!?"


i can see the mess i've made and i know that i must clean it up before someone discovers what i have done, but instead i take my pants and shirt off and begin to roll around in the puddle. hoping the shallow pool of energy drink will cool my steaming flesh, even if just for a moment.


it works and sanity is temporarily restored, and none to soon as i can see the humidifyer in my humidor is not functioning and i musst fix it. i must bring it back to life... i grab my clothes and head into the humidor to see what can be done.


it's all a mess inside. the filter is clogged and water cannot pass through to be turned into the precious steam that moistens my cigars. i flip the large, ominous red switch that turns the system on and off, hoping that a system reset will at least trick the humidifyer into functioning. this works, but it means i'll have to keep and eye on it for the rest of the night, and in my weakened condition, i can't promise anything.


i sit at my desk and type meaningless emails and bullshit messges to others who share my plight, but my mind cannot concentrate. is the heat affecting more than just my body? has the sheer level of humidity in this space seeping into my very mind? distorting my basic motor functions and slowly transforming me into something more resembing a sweaty, pink chimpanzee than a man...no, no, the source of this discomfort is from elsewhere, transcending the heat, going right for the cerebral cortex and sending violent signals down my spinal column...the urge to kill, rising...but why?


words tear through my skull like banshees And the seasons, they go round and round, and the painted ponies go up and down...


what is happening to me? some asshole tries to purchase a wine stopper from me and i suddenly take him by the collar and whisper menacingly, "it's you, isn't it? you're trying to take me down with you, but i won't go. i'll find the bottom on my own terms." the poor man struggles to detatch himself from me. all the while apologizing for something he could not have possibly been involved in...bellowing sorry's at me for a conspiracy that doesn't even exist. "HOW BEAUTIFUL IS THE MOON?!" i howl after him as he escapes my perspiring clutches.


we can't return, we can only look, behind from where we came, and go round and round and round in the circle game


the words are back seeping through my conscious mind and into my bones...into my flesh. my brain is like an animal. the words are like a scent...i am drawn to them, their source...like a shark to blood...like a wolf to a cornered, bleeding rabbit...and i must destroy her, she who is destroying my mind, by murdering joni mitchell. die bitch!

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