Monday, January 19

I've got the will to drive myself sleepless.

Insomnia isn't something I've suffered from. My inhibited sleep comes from my own determination. I simply want to do everything at every hour of the day. I can't stop. And I pay for it every time.

My daylight moments are waking staccato dreamscapes, interspersed with a litany of surrealistic terrors. The whole experience elicits a feeling of freefalling through eternity. The world takes on an aquatic, strangled appearance. People make garbled noises, sounds delayed to my reception. But what they say is completely inconsequential in the long run. I can't hear them, anyway.

Most of my thoughts turn inward, focusing on my dreams. Some long-time dreams, mostly women. Particulate thoughts colliding about with one another, no girl being better nor worse than another. All being unique in their respective ways; I cannot love one more. Therefore, I chose none and live in forced, and bitter, hermitude.

Then my thoughts direct themselves to the future. What career path shall I take? What will happen to my teeth if I stop brushing? Where did the music go?

Common perplexities to everyone, yet they are of the most dire concern to me. All options of all these thoughts run over in seconds, the human brain clocking in at about 70hz. Yet, we dwell on such things constantly.

My thoughts and experiences are not as clear with lack of sleep. But they are of an extraordinary vividity unattainable with a typical forty winks. This is why I am the way I am. Especially about the ladies.

Namaste.

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