insatiable luck is green dreampt again last night. was it that the whole world was once again against me? the ultimate antagonist.. it's not that i did something *wrong*, it's just that we don't understand each other, you and me. you try to contain, and i try to be free. put me in a cell, lock me in a cage. i don't care, and you know it. i'll push the bars apart, tear the hinges with my teeth, if need be. i'll get out. eventually. hustled through foreign corridors, dressed in subtle uniforms. a castle of domination of thought. mechanical in structure, cogs designed to wear away at the will of the capturees. my fellow convicts, delinquents, those who chose to question. but i cannot be shackled. i cannot be bound. i'll sprint away, hide away, where i cannot be found. scale the ever_changing wall, use it's unpredictability to my advantage. as it was designed to prevent people from perceiving patterns within it, it was the ultimate prison, for how can one plan an escape through the ever_changing wilderness? and so they cannot follow me, bound in their linear delineations. up and up i go, to the very top. but they too are also smart in their own way, and follow me through the ramparts, chasing after with heliocopters, machines of the sun god... but my movements are foreign to them. i cannot be understood. try, try as you might to climb up after me. i toss boxes filled with ancient detritus, lost fragments of memories and good times gone old, down down towards the ascending missionaries. i crush three old ladies with one resounding *ch'thud*. i see out in the distance, past the tennis courts, past the gravel road and pine trees and dreamstone fence (for a dreamstone fence can never be crossed, no matter how), out there in the distance, .... .... .... calling to me, though, subtly, yes, and in its way. descent, now through jagged junk and hanging hooks, just as they pour out behind me with their nets and hard wrought lust and claws that are really their hands. i take a running leap and fly like a bird, but fall like a stone. perfectly aware of my parabolic path, calculated perfectly to fall just outside the chainlink fence on the other side of the suspended tennis courts, floating five meters of the ground. calculated how i would bind myself to the outside of the fence, and stop my plummeting descent. and i am off, out of the gate, down the gravely road, angered screams of unanswerable wrath following me... i find a stream, i need to hide, to rest.. i climb in. secluded, seductive. a rocky gorge, the water comes just up to my neck. i watch the shadows of the trees play across the unchecked curves of the flowing waterworks. pipedreams. i contemplate. must keep moving, or they will find me. i hear someone approaching, he comes closer to the stream, bends down to drink. a traveler, at conflict with no one. here, one would call him a hippie. how cute. he sees me, standing covered in water. what is wrong, my brother. i am hiding, i am being chased, and persecuted. if they see you talking to me, i will be found out. i hear them coming. leave, or hide with me here. and the dogs come running. sniffing. i never thought of dogs. i couldn't even comprehend. how does one follow scent through dreams? what essence of myself did i leave behind with every step i took? what did i change, every moment of the past, that they were able to find? i will never know. my roommate walks up, and gives us away. i stand up to see a young boy, holding a dog's leash, pointing directly at me with that look only the innocent can damn you with. a look that i never understood. a look that never came from inside. i start to run, but they already have me cornered. vendetta of vengeance. vigilantes. violence. i am caught. i try, maybe, to escape their reach by climbing into a machine of blind law, that needs no mob to carry out its word as truth. i get close, grab hold, but their claws as hands are already around me, prying me away. my last stab at defiance to outwit them, outlast them, deny them of their pleasure... kicking, screaming, biting, overcome... 011201 what's it to you? who go blather from