Dreams and Wakings
My head throbs with the echoes of spine-tingling pulses of thick bass, lingering through my dreams, impressed upon my senses at the show last night. All of me hurts, but my brain the most. I've heard it said that the brain can't feel pain. I call bullshit. My brain hurts!
I can hear my roommates laughing and talking in the living room. Their voices provide me with some reassurance that I am not dead yet. I have finished the event that I foreplanned for weeks in advance and now I wish someone would place a cozy body bag over me and zip me up. I want to disappear into oblivion, but again, it is the laughter of my friends that brings me back.
I get up and make coffee and putz around outside. I'm barefoot and fire ants keep crawling up my legs. Their sting doesn't bother me much. And they don't sting often. I do some chores and clean out the bus. It's hot. Later I read a book.
There is nothing to say and there is no one to whom I can say it. I pace back and forth and sometimes laugh out loud when one of my thoughts strikes me as particularly absurd. I enjoy broccoli a lot. I bake chicken but it turns out terribly.
I'm lonely as a child and strangely happy. Often I forget to worship the feminine side of the divine with the masculine, and even more often I forget to let go of all my concepts of the infinite. It is good to be me, even if my multi-layered conception of self takes a beating from time to time. It is good to recognize the good, even if sometimes it's a little painful.
I can hear my roommates laughing and talking in the living room. Their voices provide me with some reassurance that I am not dead yet. I have finished the event that I foreplanned for weeks in advance and now I wish someone would place a cozy body bag over me and zip me up. I want to disappear into oblivion, but again, it is the laughter of my friends that brings me back.
I get up and make coffee and putz around outside. I'm barefoot and fire ants keep crawling up my legs. Their sting doesn't bother me much. And they don't sting often. I do some chores and clean out the bus. It's hot. Later I read a book.
There is nothing to say and there is no one to whom I can say it. I pace back and forth and sometimes laugh out loud when one of my thoughts strikes me as particularly absurd. I enjoy broccoli a lot. I bake chicken but it turns out terribly.
I'm lonely as a child and strangely happy. Often I forget to worship the feminine side of the divine with the masculine, and even more often I forget to let go of all my concepts of the infinite. It is good to be me, even if my multi-layered conception of self takes a beating from time to time. It is good to recognize the good, even if sometimes it's a little painful.