TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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04.30.04, friday morning
Before the peals of songbirds broke my slumber, I must have dreamt a hundred dreams. My eyelids are heavy, as if I didn't get nine good hours of sleep, as if the eyeballs had dashed around within their sockets for nine hours, as I traveled through the cities of my subconscious.