In my dream
s, I try to sleep alongside old machinery in old brick buildings
. The machinery and the walls are between various states of service and disrepair. Open gearboxes. Dry, whining bearing
s. Dry rot
ted belts. The cable and circuit board
guts of motor drives with LED
s blinking green and red and yellow. Damp, unlit corridors which have been abandoned. Grease. Dust. Coolant. Oil. Grime. Brick walls, brown and red.
My bedroom is a factory floor in a sprawling dream town. It is Gary, Indiana. It is Detroit, Michigan. It is Decatur, Illinois. It is Manchester, Berlin and Mulhouse. It is pieced together from places I have been and worked at and places that have never been.
I wake up with machines all around me and the workers milling about. Now that I am up, I need to attend to something that is in disrepair. I am so tired. I bury myself in the blankets and desperately try to get back to sleep. I am so tired. My veins are filled with battery acid. The acid is charged with worry. The worry will not let me rest. I am so tired.
I almost felt you touching me just now
I wish I knew which way to turn and go
I feel so good, and then then I feel so bad
I wonder what I ought to do
If I could only fly, if I could only fly
I'd bid this place goodbye, to come and be with you
But I can hardly stand, and I got no where to run
Another sinking sun, and one more lonely night