I’m amazed at those

middle-agers who

bust their humps

all weeks at 2 or 3

jobs (the new

American Dream)

then with a gleeful

glint in their blood-

shot eyes cough up

their much-anticipated

weekend plans. As for

me, I sleep right through

most of mine, only

occasionally rising for

brief breaks to strum

the black dulcimer,

feed the fat cats, and

perform the most

necessary of functions.

There’s nothing quite

like sleeping all night

then snoozing until

6 or 7 pm the next day.

And there’s no satisfaction

that can compare to partially

awaking in the middle of that

bliss to the white noise of the

window air conditioner

humming away to mask any

sounds of humanity beyond

my bedroom window. At those

moments of partial awakening,

a thrill shivers through me to

know that I’ve once again

robbed Life of the opportunity

to break my body or mind with

some new absurd calamity.

And at times like those, I

smile to know that I’ve

robbed the Day of it’s

evil plans to gut my wallet

in quest of some adventure,

as if any waking dream could

be sweeter than sleep.


— Fyodor Bukowski, author of Mail-Order Annie


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