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He wakes up. He enjoys the marmitish Noam Chomsky. He wants to be a 12 ft lizard. Maybe he is a 12ft lizard but the mind control device was turned against him and he thinks he’s a human being. He wonders if revolution is fermenting or if it is just old cheese and jelly in his fridge or both. He wonders why he takes things so seriously and he wonders why he is not taking things seriously enough. He watches novels die – one after the other leaping off a cliff into the darkness below. Sleepwalking into traffic surrounded by flaming tornadoes. These are dreams aren’t they? He thinks they are dreams but then he loses his camera battery and he isn’t sure. He drinks a cookies and cream milkshake. He pounds his swollen belly. He goes to sleep.

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