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FRIDAY, MARCH 11, 2016
In the morning of magicians, the turning of a radio friendly unit shifter cut-out transmissions from a lonely room - my little room, a room a thousand years wide. Thumbing my way beyond electric dreams, searching with my good eye closed for how to disappear completely.

Maybe sail to the moon - across the universe to the great gig in the sky - the great beyond of no ceiling, me - this scatterbrain, this nowhere man, the dumb man on the moon, on his angry chair up on the sun. Or, blow up the outside world, because all I need is where I end and you begin. Whenever you breathe out, I breathe in to leave a big empty emptiness, where the end has no end.

She is love, a nice dream. Though I want to hold your hand, from here to there eventually, love will tear us apart. So I talk to the wind.

"Don't leave me now, with no one in my tree."

Wave goodbye, goodbye blue sky, and without intervention, take the long and winding road where tomorrow never knows.

Will she float on the stairway to heaven, climbing up the walls with me?

Space travel is boring if you do it alone.

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