sueño numero doce...

after I finally begged,
she tried to leave,
then sheepishly returned,
ding dong on my doorbell,
despite the bell-end
I ignored the pig-head.
you so stupid, stupid.

in the dreamtime I dreamt of her,
of her and her friend,
inside and out,
don’t believe the lies...
on the seventh day,
god created a shower.

I awoke avoiding reality,
wishing on whims,
wanting to touch,
very very much,
although also wildly worried,
a feeling for a friend,
es only the dreamtime amigo,
friends aren’t that friendly in the daytime.

Remember the past.
Don’t do anything stupid, stupid.
You so stupid, stupid.
Stop choosing such stupid choices, stupid.
Start being smart, stupid.

first dream for fucking ages...

people always say,
if you stop smoking bud,
you’ll be dreaming once more,
at night,
and in general.

i never trust what people say,
its a strength of mine,
but also a big problem,
sometimes,
people’s intentions are innocent.

people also say,
if you write down your dreams,
right away upon waking,

the memories,
return with a vengeance.

from what I can tell,
both are based in truth,
as far as I can tell,
from the information,
I have at my disposal,

I just woke up,
I dreamt that I got home,
drank beer in parks,
ate watermelon in parks,
and sat on the steps of parliament house.

you wanted to paint it purple,
I wanted to burn it down,
we couldn’t agree,
but it didn’t matter,
we were the best and brightest
of our pathetic democracy.

then I went to exchange again,
in Iraq,
Heavy Metal In Baghdad,
which was fucking good,
not very ‘cool’,
but very fucking good.

good>cool.

I didn’t want to leave,
the centre of the serious action,
because I had to head to the coast,
because I wanted to go surfing.

there I lived,
on a cliff,
the weather was hot,
the nights were nice,
the surf was massive,
the food was foreign,
the locals were crazy,
some of them were very friendly,
I made Iraqi friends-for-life.
‘bra boys’ are massive pussies.
I thought Iraq was land-locked?