Delirium

Mr Gaiman sent me, after writing those comics that he wrote where the main character stops what he's doing and looks out at me and looks me right in the goddamn eye and I knew that I had to do this, just fucking knew it, that deep-down know it in the bones feeling that you don't get anymore, but he gave it to me.

I can't find a fucking marker and by all the gods I've eaten I need one, but there's no way to get the message out unless I put it on the internet, and the Catholics will probably get to it before it reaches your ears but I don't have a choice. The world will thank me for WHAT.

i'm doing, and there's a way to serve him and a way to keep him away from me but there's a goddamn woman and she won't stop singing, she just won't stop and she's wringing tears out of me, tears out of a goddamn stone and she won't stop, she'll never stop, I've gotta talk to her because if she can keep doing this it means she isn't under their control and they can't get near her but neither can I and I just want her to turn it off for five fucking minutes so we can talk.

         and then he's shouting

he's shouting get the hell off me, get away from me

I don't want it, I never wanted it, fuck you, get away from me, get off me.

On and on and on this litany he's spouting

don't know what he's so afraid of.

It's a hell of a lot easier to just go inside and let it happen to somebody else

like I did

but I gotta know

what are you all doing in here with me?

I have heard the songs of apocalypse and I will appreciate the silence. I could raise an army at my shout but what's the good in that? Too many armies out there these days, not like how it was in my day, all of that destruction and despair and desire happened behind closed doors, they didn't walk boldly down the street and pick people out of the crowd and give them gifts, gifts of whatever it is that people think they wanted or they needed or whatever, but at least dream had the decency to keep his distance and let us come to him. It was better in those days, before my third eye opened, and then my fourth, and then I was blessed or cursed with second sight and God stopped looking and I couldn't keep any of my friends because the rainbows around their heads were burning and it hurt my many eyes to look upon them, so I opened some more and then everybody could see my soul and I had to go.

Yes, it was better back then.

SING, FISH-FACE. 

SING FOR ME.

AND CHANGE YOUR HAIR.

I'LL LEAD YOU OUT OF HERE.

There's too many paths, too many goddamn paths.

Don't fucking look at me.

She keeps singing.

The Catholics.

I mean, it isn't like I mind, but I rather expected more room.

Once upon a time.

I suppose this is the part where I trail off giggling.