In the dream he inserted into the right side of his chest a pair of tubes, one end aided by small hooks which kept the pair inside in place, the other plugged into a pump and his drug source: cocaine. The transformation was immediate, from awkward man-boy to a tired-skinned bruise-eyed lurch who put his face close to mine, exhaled through his nose, then rose to go. There were others in the rooms. He delegated. His sharpness had the clarity of glass, a refracting lens pointed at himself. He watched himself film himself. He made noise to keep the center together. He no longer felt sad.
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Wisdom before impulsivity; bravery before self interest; the common good before pity; and your own good judgement above all else. --Carmen's Oma
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