(no subject)

I awoke with the vocal of the track Sunday ringing in my head—no music—dazed and confused.

For in truth, it's the beginning of nothing
And nothing has changed 
Everything has changed
For in truth, it's the beginning of an end
And nothing has changed
And everything has changed 

As this fades from my ears I realize I have no idea what is going on. My stomach has improved little and the distant memory of having tapped out early on everyone over some lousy pain. Fucking wimp, a voice I recognize as my masc-swung of centre side berates. Disembodied Bowie lyrics appear as if in light, invisible headphones again—Sunday, still out of order, first verse following second.

Nothing remains 
We could run 
when the rain slows
Look for the cars or signs of life 
Where the heat goes 
Look for the drifters
We should crawl under the bracken 
Look for the shafts of light on the road
Where the heat goes

The music is still missing. It's only his voice. I wake up completely and realize that I might get a better idea of what is going on if I call work.

It's mid dial that I realize it's Tuesday. I have the day off.

...and I'm hearing phantom Bowie.