If I ask him to visit the Fishmongers on Friday, I won't have to shop for cheese on Saturday
ahem... I'm so fucking bored. I CANNOT sleep. WHY can I not SLEEP. Every wonder why the world spins the way it does? Ever asked yourself so many questions that you don't have the time to answer them all? Ever typed everything that came into your head, just as it did so? That is what I am doing... Welcome, to the mind of an insomniac. A hyper-manic yet controlled computerised state of being, where one's finger are inexplicably linked to the keyboard of the computer, and unavle to stop typing. I have had kow coffe today. My penis hurts, why can I NOT SLEEP?!??! The insane wanderings and meanderings of a brain possessed, possessed by the spirit of the damned, and the ghost of years gone by. The cup of life and the saucer of death. Encyclopedias envelope my brain, and I wish death would become of me. The pounding becomes almost unbearable. And suddenly, I decide that my brain has maxed-out, and fuck, I wanna crash. I feel sick. Vodka-sick, in spite of not having had vodka since last week. I want to hurl, the sounds from my speakers attack my brain, boring deeply into me, plunging my consciousness into the black void of life. At least in blackness there is privacy. One may hide, whnilst the world seeks, the the world need not find. The warm hands fills me, wrapping me up, as if in cotton-wool, and then placed by a fireplace. The drug-induced high of melodrama and anticipation set my senses on fire, and then suddenly, as if from nowhere... It is gone...