No chance at, or need for, redemption.

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I fell asleep with Bjork playing a few weeks ago, and last night, I had a super-fantastic dream involving her.

I was at a party at her home, which in the dream was a two story penthouse loft in Reykjavík. The people there were all extremely unique types, but, as unique types tend to be, very shy and antisocial. I wandered away from the main room in search of some Cheetos. That's when I spotted what appeared to be a dragon.

"Hello," I said.

The dragon looked at me. It didn't look down at me, or seem to be afraid, but it merely registered my presence with the patience and understanding of the Buddha. It nodded almost imperceptibly.

"It's midnight and still sunny. Do you ever get used to that?"

Again the dragon looked at me. It did what I can only assume to be a dragonic version of a shrug.

"So, uh, does that mean you never notice?"

"No, it means he doesn't understand English. He's Icelandic, after all." said Bjork, who was wearing a gorilla suit, long ago pink, but now, more purplish from years of sweat and frantic dancing.

Michel Gondry was listening to his iPod in the corner and scrawling notes on Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana's naked back with a Sharpie.

Then, I woke up with a huge erection.

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Is this what became of those notes?


I am tugging at overtime's apron. Overtime is neglecting me.

When I have extra money, new art will be put on my body. August?

I'm not unfaithful, but I'll stray.-BK