a matter of blank spaces

dear diary,
i collect minimal techno and party invitations.
i wish i could stop talking about sleep but i'm afraid being awake is too daunting
last night i had this dream again. the dream.
a universe of its own, both static and ever changing
me, twirling around like a lost character in a computer game, a lucid marionette
sharks are such beautiful beasts don't you think and this time i must have been riding one
and once again i lost track of the enormous white horses somewhere along the way, they are the kindest people you will ever meet,
i was sliding faster and faster around in what could only be described as a massive maze hidden in a giant replica of westminster university,
signs of danger everywhere, a shruken river thamse.
have you ever witnessed a bobsleigh competition
faster killershark faster and from time to time i appeared invisible, it was unbelievably calming
grown up children in bright green school uniforms. animated teachers telling them off
"this is the river, do not ever go in"
emerald blazers, inhabiting every corner of my mind.

a naked woman covered in oil, cold water made of sand
the body is such an uninteresting vessle, your genitals are babies unborn.
ideas shining bright in
diamond light.

medications, proud caretakers of this habernating soul.
do not ever go in. i make a living out of kiwi flavoured lemonade,
sour breathing, i always smell of alcohol,
you're scented like softcore porn, a flickering candle.