the dreams of an insomniac
excerpts from yesterday's late-night journaling adventure:
"...The wind has stolen my sleep, whispering sweet and sassy promises into it's ears. My sleep is out drinking with the wind, slow-dance swaying to the wind's own lullaby. Too many drinks under it's belt to make a rational decision, my sleep is not coming home tonight, or at least not for awhile. It'll wander in, wine staining the cracks in it's lips, the wind's flavors on it's breath. (Rain, damp leaves, hints of burnt plastic amidst the dark textures of wood smoke...) My sleep with dance with me for awhile before pressing me to the bed - I don't at all mind tasting the wind's sloppy seconds. My sleep and I, we're quietly rough with one another. We never leave visible marks... ...The night always ends with my sleep stealing the pillow, and weaving it's legs underneath my knees, weighted breathing. My body smells like caramel apples, and photosynthesis..."
today was the contrast between insomnia and the inability to wake up. it also was the day to wear an apron and get funky to jamiroquai, whilst baking a cake in the shape of a log. with shelf 'shrooms n' all. i'll show soon.
"i'll show you mine if you show me yours..."
thai curries never come out the way they're supposed to, i.e. restaurant quality. and even extra-firm tofu needs to be pressed before it's fried. my lessons for the day. now i'm gonna finish my mulled wine before it cools, and go to sleep.
love and euchre.
"...The wind has stolen my sleep, whispering sweet and sassy promises into it's ears. My sleep is out drinking with the wind, slow-dance swaying to the wind's own lullaby. Too many drinks under it's belt to make a rational decision, my sleep is not coming home tonight, or at least not for awhile. It'll wander in, wine staining the cracks in it's lips, the wind's flavors on it's breath. (Rain, damp leaves, hints of burnt plastic amidst the dark textures of wood smoke...) My sleep with dance with me for awhile before pressing me to the bed - I don't at all mind tasting the wind's sloppy seconds. My sleep and I, we're quietly rough with one another. We never leave visible marks... ...The night always ends with my sleep stealing the pillow, and weaving it's legs underneath my knees, weighted breathing. My body smells like caramel apples, and photosynthesis..."
today was the contrast between insomnia and the inability to wake up. it also was the day to wear an apron and get funky to jamiroquai, whilst baking a cake in the shape of a log. with shelf 'shrooms n' all. i'll show soon.
"i'll show you mine if you show me yours..."
thai curries never come out the way they're supposed to, i.e. restaurant quality. and even extra-firm tofu needs to be pressed before it's fried. my lessons for the day. now i'm gonna finish my mulled wine before it cools, and go to sleep.
love and euchre.