When you dream of your ex, time to get a colonic

I’ve not had a colonic even though I’m getting more thorough with my health but now might be a good time.  I had a dream with my ex last night and she was upset with me and when I woke up I carried that Upper Reality dribble down we’ll call it, carried it throughout the day like some dreams do; they make it seem more real than floating around the city trying not to feel something for a few moments.  My ex was there in Upper Reality and it makes me wonder if it’s myself I’m angry at or some part of her is letting me have it. Freud would call it an obsession with my mother; of course, this diagnosis would come while he was taking a bathroom break with some coke and a mirror and his mother floating in the room screaming at him to tell all of his patients their mothers were out to get them and have sex with them. I have Jung’s dream book by my bed as well as Castenada’s collection of dream essays.  I’ve had more than one dream of flying, with my body, over very large cities or cities with exaggerated features like mammoth bridges, and wake up and feel I’m still there and I feel my contents have shifted.  The little nubber lasts for weeks sometimes. Either way, I should get a colonic as when one of these reels I sent in hopefully lands on the desk of someone maybe at NBC and they realize that being dead last in the ratings and dropping a ton of money on big stars, as is their strategy from what I’ve read, may not be the best thing.   I love NBC; I’m partial to them; I rooted for them during Battle of the Network Stars growing up because they had the best looking women and that’s important.  Cosby Show, Family Ties, Cheers, Night Court, best lineup on TV in the 80’s. Now they’re in the toilet bowl that toilets use to poop in. It breaks my heart a bit. My advice, other than to hire me, is to admit where you are, take a Zen approach and go, we’re in last, that’s ok; it’s liberating! there’s nothing to lose; then go, we can take some chances here and stop trying to do what everyone else is doing with this reality TV fungus that’s overtaken us like body snatchers; Some shows are ok but when I see wife swapping, you get what you karmically deserve; even on Planet Glukon, where they eat their young as ritual, do they look at Wife Swapping and go, what the hell is wrong with these people?  Ditch that reality fad and drift away from Law and Order thing; CSI runs that genre now.  Do something new;  I don’t know what that us, I have an idea or two which I’ll probably reserve for my company Internet TV channel which I envision launching in three years or so. Or if NBC gets me an audition I can give it for a quarter and some smoked almonds.    Dumping Conan is also karma I believe. I believe in negative energy swirls encompassing an entire company, or building or family or planet; I’ve seen it, casting shadows longer than a lifespan and leaving eyes that squint from starlight.  Don’t do that NBC.  Audition me!

A couple of closing thoughts before I drift towards the mattress:
– these days, if I were in a bar in Vegas alone and a beautiful woman came up to me and starting chatting me and making moves, my first thought would be ‘are you going to at least leave me with one kidney when I regain consciousness?’  I’ve been traumatized by the movie Hostel and today’s FDA approved sociopathy sponsored by Pfizer or Merck or etc.
-when I’m about to touch my guitar I treat it like sex; I better be gentle but strong and mean every stroke or we’ll both come out of it empty and weeping.
– I don’t watch or listen to Presidential speeches anymore, dating back to Lincoln, maybe. I get what I call ‘teleprompter radiation sickness’, in which empty babble is shot in concentrated form into my mitochondria and I suddenly I have the urge to ask my doctor about Romagloxipin.

I always intend these to be a couple of lines, these blogs. This is why tweeting is squeezing my body inside a grapefruit.




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