I am nothing more, nothing less.
Just a ray of light looking into a dirty, pulsing goofball play.
At a shit-stained stage with second-rate actors.
And the me character assumes it will always be around.
The ego is delusional in that sense.
There is no time but “lights on” time. And dream within a dream time.
I die tonight and give over my mind to the father of farther. The unconscious sorts tomorrow.
Do I want the perfect inmate for my cell?
Or do I want out of the cell?
Out of the theater, out past the projectionist, down the aisle, toward the exit and out into the direct sunshine.