i've been having nightmares of the future. the world's end. it's been going on for a few weeks now, so i can't blame it on the incessant headache i have at my right temple since the wisdom teeth extraction. the death of the world always changes though. it was rabid dogs last night, dogs which used to be human and they had flowing white silky hair. or fur. whichever. but the end is always cataclysmic in my dreams. but given our (or my) nature, how can it ever be anything otherwise?
on the playlist now, peter grimes:
let her who is without fault cast the first stone
and
old joe has gone fishing and
young joe has gone fishing and
you know has gone fishing
(something something) by the shore
i could never quite get the last line, but i can sing it to myself all day long.
and in passing, i can't believe it's already march.