Who The Heck Is Don Quick-oats?

The Dull Pain Of Truth Weights My Soul, Pulling It Under. I Am Left Hopelessly Awake.

I've Never Done Acid, Finding It Hard To Go Willingly To A Place That Could Be Frightening, Hellish, And Totally Beyond My Control. A Place Much Like High School.

They Would Place Their Hands Together Inside The Circle So That They Could Walk In Each Other's Dreams. It Forged A Bond That Could Not Be Broken. The Circle Represents Love In Eternity. For There Is No Beginning And No End.

It's Only His Thumb Brushing Slowly Across The Lower Edge Of My Lip, But It's As If Time Slows And The Sweep Of That Thumb Below My Mouth Takes Forever. It Is No Spell That I Know Of, But It Holds Such Magic, I Can Scarcely Breath. He Pulls His Hand Away Fast, Aware Of What He's Done. But His Touch Lingers.

As A Kid, I Imagined Lots Of Different Scenarios For My Life. I Would Be An Astronaut. Maybe A Cartoonist. A Famous Explorer Or Rock Star. Never Once Did I See Myself Standing Under The Window Of A House Belonging To Some Druggie Named Carbine, Waiting For His Yard Gnome To Steal His Stash So I Could Get A Cab Back To A Cheap Motel Where My Friend, A Neurotic, Death-obsessed Dwarf, Was Waiting For Me So We Could Get On The Road To An Undefined Place And A Mysterious Dr. X, Who Would Cure Me Of Mad Cow Disease And Stop A Band Of Dark Energy From Destroying The Universe.