Acid Rain

"Isn't it strange we have to try to be ourselves?" Puhg asked. What a paradox.

Is it because we are nothing but a sum of our actions, and if you believe no day but today, only the potential the actions we are on the cusp of taking? Or, if you're really being particular, only the canoe you're in at this moment?

So it takes tons of start-up energy to get the machine whirring, to ask, "What is it I even am before I act?" And then, whoa, what if you want to change? On one hand, if you're just in this canoe, changing is very very simple and everyone selling self-help books is a fraud because you just dip your paddle and swing another direction. But on the other hand maybe your canoe has been lashed with wild straw, tight and lean, with little ability to change or you only have one map or you aren't on a wide river but a dripping little creak, bottom touching rock.

Last night I dreamt I stole someone's DNA. It was a comedian I admire. He was laying on a hotel bed, and I took a sample of his mucas. It was bright green in the petri dish. Someone else was there, drunk, trying to play a board game. The city was dark and lit in navy glow, there were talks of acid rain. Not the fake (?) 90s kind, like the government was wondering if they should blast us all with a cloud of hallucinogenics once a month to take the edge off things. My platform was maybe have rain rooms, where people could go if they wanted the acid. I kept the green sludge in my pocket. I didn't know what I was going to do with it.