Broken

Pretty much yesterday all over again. I keep smelling something like diesel fumes in the air. Maybe the pine trees have mutated. Maybe everything is becoming machine. Everything but me, at least, as if I were becoming machine I don't think my joints would be so sore. I could just put some oil on them and everything would be fine.

Too many naps breaking up the days and nights. Time is most useful in big chunks. I don't know when I'm getting REM sleep. I must be so short of dream time by now that I've gone mad and don't know it. And not even a moon to howl at.