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August 30, 2016 / barton smock


I am with my wife and son and we are drinking from the shell of a turtle a soup the locals use to dilute a rain’s grief. I kind of know that something bad is going to happen to both twins.  my wife is looking for a wheelchair and then for a place to hide it.  my son is saying grace in the only spot he’ll ever be.  some of his white pills turn blue as a laugh track denies three times the thunder’s loss.

/ barn etiquette. a rabbit a volcano’s dove.


*note, documentation purposes only- here is an email I sent this morning in regards to the dream that had me make the dream above

Glad you’re feeling better!  I think I’m okay, I have to start sleeping, jesus.  Kind of feel underwater.  But it’s better than dreaming about someone beating on you and Timmy in France.  I’ll call on Friday to refill my prescriptions for sure.  Oh man, Timmy is hilarious.  I remember one of the traits they said he’d be missing was humor.  Um, not applicable.  I guess he can’t escape being surrounded.  Come hither, Wednesday.

Love and here,


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