Sandman's Journal

All I want to do for the next three days is to sleep. The heavy hand of October has descended. The icy pheasants of my thoughts are dropping from the sky like dead . . . pheasants.

I used the word "surreal" five times last night during my campfire performance at Dale's. Indeed, the last four weeks have not been normal! For unless it was a dream, I just spent 29 days getting documented by a New York City film crew of two. I enrolled, attended, and then dropped out of trucking school. I had loaded weapons pointed at me by a madman during a radio show. My entire bank account has become depleted.

I have an eerie feeling that life's going to get a lot weirder before it gets back to normal.