I cant sleep. I went to bed at 230am thinking that I’d be fast asleep by now but no… that isn’t the case at all. Instead I twist and turn and adjust and readjust the covers and think about random thoughts. Just dwelling. Where? I haven’t got a clue. Somewhere on the margins of my mind where passions mix with memories and modes.
Clouds with eyes. Snail eyes. They petrude from the starry night sky and blink. You reach out to touch and they retract, only to inch their way out, slowly with caution, and peer once more.
Some friends stopped by tonight around 100am. Very uncharacteristic for this crowd, but then again its finals week and they’re all finished up. I, on the other hand, have an exam at 1200pm tomorrow. I need to wake and take my sister to work and study for a few hours more. At this rate I’m not sure if I’ll get the sleep I need.
My thoughts. What thoughts. It’s all the same. Over and over. Cruel. To have form or be formless? To mold to the world, permeate and penetrate its pores, saturate and shape with its contours and fall gently on my feet with formless grace? Or do I ram and butt and blow the world around me? Do I force it to mold to me and make it in my image?
Colorful stringy things. Lily pads. Plum fruit.
All I had today for food was an eight ounce steak, an apple, a coke, and a glass of milk.
The ants go marching. Giant iron telescopes. Lion eyed. Smile. Flash.
We are the source of it all. The juicy details. The leviathan. Concentration. Attention. Ten-hut. My toes are cold. I battle with my room mates to keep the heat up. I don’t like paying more in utilities as much as the next guy but you gotta stay warm for christs sake. A home needs to be habitable. And not just habitable so long as you’re wearing seven layers of clothing. I like the nude, and winter doesn’t jive too well with that. I have to compromise and wear a lot more clothing. But anything more than two layers, in my own home, is just unbearable.
I need to sleep. Care bears. Clouds. We see people as we are.
The waterfalls cascade upwards. Rain trickles up in binary digits. Cascading code.
I need to smack the shit outta myself. Wake up. Not now. But in general. Now I need to sleep. In general I need to wake up. I need to get zesty about life. I don’t wanna talk about meaning, existence or any of that bullshit any more. I just wanna be content with whats happening.
Freckles and a smile. Cubicles. Rows of cubicles. If you lived in a digital world, there would be no more icicles. Only cubicles.
Who am I going to be? Every day I become more of that person. Who will I be someday? What will compose that person. Breath in ten times. Feel light headed. Be absurd.
Erase. Pink e-racer. Ticonderoga.
My lap top is half closed on my lap. I’m typing with my eyes closed. Images pass through my mind. They exit through my finger tips. Leather hats. Feathers. Beads. Mountains. Glorious mountains. Ice capped mountains. Their peaks frosty and blue. Dark blue against the azure sky.
Echoes. Giggles and playful things. Smiling eyes.
Sleep. sleep. Leather. Dark leather. The story is ending. The scene is closing. The plot has unfolded. Turn the page. Turn to the last page. Moustache. Blur. Hard work.
I press the eraser into my eye.
The sky is beautiful. Not now. In my head. It is majestic. Pink . The flowers move back and forth in the breeze like excited little school children. They shake with excitement. The sky is bleeding upward away from the horizon. It bleeds with the dreams of those who sleep. Our dreams will bleed for those still awaiting the night. What a magical place. Inside my head. The arches. These twin arches. They transition from silver to gold and back again. Family is important.
I want adventure. I want to so bad it ruins the taste of life. Adventure. Daring adventure. Risky adventure. Adventure that is open and bright. The adventure where everyone is expecting you. Where there are countless paths and everyone has something marvelous in store. A new person. A new discovery. Wonders lurking like salamanders. Cool places rich with surprise. Every corner turns over a new leaf.
Vermont. Chapped lips. Pine trees. Maple trees. Gray skies. Blankets of sullen snow. Virgin snow. Snow like a canvas stretched out on mother earth. A half painted canvas that wears its way in with every passing day the sun shines brighter. Each trail is a bursh stroke. Summer sets in as cold gives way to warmth, as pallid playgrounds portray their hints of color. With these days the canvas becomes full of life. The canvas is no longer pale but teeming with painted living. Vivacious life. Under the shade of great big trees. Pine cones. Water ice. Dusty trails. Dew drops. Sweat. Patios. Insects buzzing around, landing on pages as you rock in the breeze. Nod your head into its arms.