and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

I'm back at home, back at work, with my ass back in the saddle, and so you'd think I'd be feeling the love juices flowing out of my chubby little chicken-greased fingers going tap-tap-tappity on the keyboard filling pages of caffeine-induced nightmare-prose but alas, alack, the drain has been pulled and out the bottom the oil of my impetus, the improvisational energy, the inspiration of this idiot; it's gone, runneth over - and out - ten-four, good buddy: the rabbit is in the hole - I repeat, the rabbit is in the hole - hibernation - cold wind blowing across the desolate plain of morbid christmas-time thoughts, skeletal fantasy images of old kris kringle (that fat bastard in a red used-car-man suit) spewing technobabble-on, and on, and on - with his sack full of PDAs and MP3 players that will change the world and save us damned: almighty! and me, here, not a finger-lickin' goddamn ounce of comment left in my body (as skeletal in all my meatyness as old Saint Nick himself) not an ounce of energy left in these bones for circuits, silicon, or chips (and dips in the support department) no, not a single joule calorie or watt of what I need to keep these pages full, just the slow sinnkk-slide-tap of heavy fingers weighing down the keys - through the power of inevitability and infinite eventuality - those chubby little digits sinking on the keypad like a dinosaur into a tar pit; molasses-fueled action like the matrix filmed in a giant holiday-spread gravy boat, last minute sales buffeting me from all directions just as a midnight wind pushes a drunkard around on his walk home, roughly, like thugs in an alleyway, back and forth into eachothers arms - hot potatoe with the wino - this is the end of the metaphor: analogy? we don't have time for no stinkin' analogies, we must busy ourselves in wrapping up our consumerism in pretty boxes with ribbons and bows lest we disappoint our fatherly figures making law up in the big house whose diverting, self-averting eyes are (guiltily) turned away from our upturned and expectant faces, open (empty) arms ready for the great big M&M rainbow handout from the sky - we should really be worried about them, oh father - oh brother (roll your eyes, it's cute when they don't listen remember?) - we should be concerned that they're busy stealing analog behind our backs and thinking, sister? you ain't seen nothing yet. No, but I saw it coming. Quick, get me some eggnog.