Darkschunt

I feel like lounging high up in the boughs of some old and ancient apple tree, while sunshine falls over me through the apple-scented leaves and some young pale skinny boy plays the guitar beneath. But that would be unlikely to happen now - it is now night.
I wonder if the moonlight would penetrate through the waters of the duck pond in the freezing cold far away on the fields, until it shone down on that impenetrable hole somewhere in the depths of the pond where I figure the ducks hold their breath and sleep the night away, since the last time we made a drunken excursion to the pond in the mid of the night there were no ducks there.
But that is impossible to suggest - we do not know if the night will be freezing cold tonight. It probably is - but you never know. Volcanos could snow and owls might plunge through the depths of the oceans while riding on huge old tortoises's backs.
I feel like going wandering through the halls of my flat, listening to the sound of the Red Hot Chili Peppers as they rehearse their next album in the next room, before running my hands along the cracks of the walls and stepping out onto the balcony to have a cigarette. But that will never happen, the walls have no cracks, only lots of sharp little bumps that could gut a salmon fish wide open if you fling it against the walls.
Where oh where is my James Iha album when I need it? Or maybe I need some other album - but I can't place my finger on what it is. But maybe all I need is some gin - and that is possible, there is a bottle sitting right next to me.
If we look through the diaries of our lives, what would we find? Maybe a much-needed buttercup or a cup full of butter, either one would be good. Maybe we would also need some bread to have with our butter - nice, toasted, brown bread. And a cup of sugar, brown sugar, to spread atop the buttered bread. And some sprinklings of cinnamon. Mmm. Gumbo jumbo, where are you when we need you? Let's go the beach and continue on our ramblings.