12.59 a.m.

My bed is a nest.
The whole of my room could be a filthy unorganized sty,
but my bed must always be dusted of crumbs, insulated with several blankets and a down comforter,
2 standard size pillows, and 2 6 ft. body pillows to flank me.
When I sleep alone, I create this little coffin, a little swathing coccoon, around me.

When I sleep this way I dream easier.

"Let me take you on a voyage to another world."
Hooverphonic

[I've lost, haven't I? Whatever it is I wanted from you,
I probably projected it, imagined it, believed it.
The truth is that we're strangers.
The truth is you don't even know my name.
I am a character, a mythological creature,
suspended in animation when you are gone.]

I've got melancholy music in the wee hours of the night.
If someone were here with me, we'd slow fuck for hours.

To the left of my laptop, on a low table lie scattered the remains of my day;
bottle of muscle relaxers, packet of BCPs, watch [gift from Hugo],
scissors, dried rose head [from Hugo], nail file, loose change, bic lighter,
loose change, lipstick, old Muni transfers and gold nail polish.
Stems and sticks.

[ Ed. note: Why is Dopamine Junkie suddenly interested in describing her setting?
She seems eager to share her world, drop her guard.
How does this motivate the reader to keep reading? ]

"Did I dream, you dreamed about me?"
This Mortal Coil

Sometimes in my dreams I am swathed in desire, enfolded
in strong unseen arms. Smiling with contentment.

**This is where it's clear her focus has shifted, that in the self imposed strict order of her bento box desires, the food started touching. This part needs to be tightened up. What are you/am I trying to say?

RED VALKYRIE IS ABOUT TO DIE. RED VALKYRIE NEEDS FOOD.

Release my Dopamine

Dopamine

Dopamine Addicts abound

I have more to say, about the immanentizing of the eschaton, the decrescendo. . .
My breath has run out, no longer can I hold this fermata.
Preparing for pain, for change, for pain.