If we can realize a dream than we can dream reality. Maybe then there is some truth to the nightly visions haunting us with unknown desires and ancient memory and the deep sensual dark of the dreamer. I'm half-sick of shadows... and scared to death of love. Somedays the light burns the back of my eyelids and I cannot stand the sun. These days are the best days of my life. On these not-so-rare days the words flow from my mind, through my ink-stained fingers, and onto the page or computer screen before me. On these days I sit, patiently, and wait for the words to finish before I leave my darkened room and step out into the night. I walk the neon-lit, rain-washed streets and find a new meaning of reality. Dancing like a dervish, finding mouth after mouth full of the tatse of sweet liquor and hungry, hot, searching tongues. Strange how booze makes everyone bi tonight. Paradise in a bottle and I would so love to drown in it with you but for a nagging sense of right and wrong. These fragments are all that I am. Thousands of shattered mirrors reflecting lies and truth and dementia all at once.