I like songs about drifters, posts about the same

I didn’t wake up today. I wanted to, but my eyes’ muscles refused to work. So did all of the other muscles in the world. They were on strike. I felt that I was in a sad relationship where my body was separated from myself, even if we were both sharing the same bed. I can’t stay mad at my body for requesting a break.
I won’t. My mind won’t, if there is any to begin with. I was drifting away from my body, but oddly enough I was enjoying all the bodily pleasures imagined: sun in the eye, raindrops on the skin, laughter at the life.

Tell me what’s in your salad and I’ll tell you what’s in mine.

Fine, I’ll go first. Mine has 2 girls. One that looks like me and feels like me, but is not me compared to the other one who is the epiphenomenon of the first, resembles to me and feels like me with a twist. There’s no dressing, only dresses. One of them dresses casual the other one dresses up as me. I sit the two of them together, but they refuse to look at each other or to acknowledge one another. I’m fine, I can relate to that and to them except I obtusely refuse to relate to myself. Three would be a crowd I guess.

I like to drift and am a sucker for fugacious things: intercourse, ice cream, cigarettes, milk, me. (Do not read that as: milk me. If you do, the pun is all on you and not myself inflicted as the comma lady was visibly there).

An old man was sitting outside his house waiting for Hope. He was waiting for her to die. He had heard that she’d be the last to die and had wagered his friends that he would survive her. He didn’t. The two of them died together as a couple.

I like dogs who look both ways before crossing the street.

I like dogs period.