The Only World.

I open the doors and windows in my house. The breeze exorcises some spirits, while ushering in others. I feel spirit-like these days. But not in a cool, groovy kind of way. Just thin and used up. I have more than a foot in the spirit world. Somewhere along the line I'll have to choose. Or more likely, it will be chosen for me. There's only one choice. I guess it's not really a choice at all.
Nothing means anything anymore. What's the point in that? Isn't there supposed to be a point?
Those dogs barking in the night don't seem so poetic and romantic, now. You know, all of that call of the wild crap. They're drier and colder, more like death hounds.
I have to say these things. John Lee's daddy said, "It's in him and it's got to come out." I can't contain it. I have to boogie-woogie, vomiting forth in the midst of vacating the material world. Which, as far as I know, is the only world.
My house is a cave. A tomb. Breeze or no breeze. I want to crawl in my cocoon and fall asleep. Not an uneasy sleep, where I have apocalyptic dreams, but a deep, deep sleep. The big sleep.
I'm so, so tired.