Look, it's a parade!

My mind is such a fucker, sometimes. It puts on a giant parade with balloons and full brass bands, clown, strippers and the glittering drag queens, all in the dead of night. Even my friend Xanax couldn't  coax it to quiet down. It sent protesters against the meditation, dragging cheeckbones' propositions through the streets, leaving streaks of memories as it moved swiftly forward. The fool jumps up onto a lamp post and screams with glee, "Can we do it? Shall we?" Good thing no one put him in charge. I wish there was a bar in here, a little brandy or seven lychee martinis might quiet them all down. Aaahhhh, my friend Xanax has sent reinforcements. Good night friends and strangers.