Soviet Texas

I had a dream last night I was at the White House and met Trump. Even though I hate the fucker I'm still civil. I don't call him Sir or Mr. President. I just say hey how you doing, and he's all smiling. Invites into his office, not the Oval office but a private one. It's covered in junk his toys everywhere.

Something I say makes him stop and turn and looked at me and said "You're a very positive person aren't you? " I was like "sure why not?" He liked that and we sat down at a table.

Things took a dark turn when Don Junior shows up and sits next to me. The old teeth grinder throws naked photos of me on the table, obviously my home is bugged. Trump tears little squares of paper off a sheet and tosses them on the table. They contain quotes of me saying bad things about Trump. Mostly off of my phone.

So then I woke up. Drinking  alcohol suppresses needed REM sleep.

Absence of alcohol let's the brain make up for lost fun. So yeah I've been having wild dreams and the wildest are the pee frustration dreams, which have become elaborate architectural tours of place and interiors of elaborate patterns and... just a love of material that I get from this built world. From primitive to future sterile and all parts between.

How is this tiny brain of mine able to reproduce this universe and the answer is it does this when awake as well honeybunch.

This is your brain mirroring the universe all the result of evolution.

Late July I got a butterfly fairy woman tattoo and it blew out like no one has ever seen.

My artist was mortified but I was sure it was just bruising. Nope. Frail old sun damged skin. Not her fault. 

So I'm like, this isn't setback. This is an opportunity. We will make weird fairy clouds around her, and I said yes. But we hold off on that until the tan goes away.

I got another tattoo this past Tuesday and she was a little leery, some PTSD. Everything was fine and I got a wonderful coffee branch with flowers and berries.