What day is this? Friday. Jesus. The contortion of time and space, folding upon itself, delivering it's speed in lethal doses. Where'd the week go? Wake up, Donnie. Just tell me where the 6 foot tall bunny rabbit is so I can go back to sleep. I'll wait out my 28 days and return the artifact to it's rightful time.
Radio sucks-here anyway.
I must do something interesting with my time, something constructive. Something to look back on and say I didn't piss away this day, like every other day. Perhaps start a rough draft for a shooting script, or paint something. I'm inspired but to do what? Read a book, learn a new language, finish either of the previous, cook something different, move somewhere different.....running in circles.
This time of day is not right for me, in any sense-I'm not the sort to wake up before the animals and meet the sun with a "hidy-ho". My doshas do not correlate--I am not one with alignment. I've broken the scale repeatedly, and this will not instill change towards a reversal. Brain activity does not register a tick, the lights are not on. My eyes may be open, but the window blinds are shut, the hurricane shutters barricaded and sandbagged. The conscious me is tucked away in the back of my mind, snuggling up to the darkest corner of my head, thinking of stars, of night, bleak and absolute. If there's a fire, my motor instincts shall override, my legs shall drift and drag my body to safety. To ask me to do something with an acknowledgment at this moment is akin to asking a postman for mail. Automated reactions and delayed emotion, a triggered response to stimuli.
Eh, another day, another boring dollar....or 72 cents after taxes. Oh fuck, Hostel is today, my spirits have lifted, and I'm sure only to be crushed by the horrid state of the movie theatres in this city. Maybe I'll have to take a drive far out to a remote location for a peaceful viewing....not too remote, after all, I'm watching a film about people being tortured in desolate buildings. The joy of it all!
Radio sucks-here anyway.
I must do something interesting with my time, something constructive. Something to look back on and say I didn't piss away this day, like every other day. Perhaps start a rough draft for a shooting script, or paint something. I'm inspired but to do what? Read a book, learn a new language, finish either of the previous, cook something different, move somewhere different.....running in circles.
This time of day is not right for me, in any sense-I'm not the sort to wake up before the animals and meet the sun with a "hidy-ho". My doshas do not correlate--I am not one with alignment. I've broken the scale repeatedly, and this will not instill change towards a reversal. Brain activity does not register a tick, the lights are not on. My eyes may be open, but the window blinds are shut, the hurricane shutters barricaded and sandbagged. The conscious me is tucked away in the back of my mind, snuggling up to the darkest corner of my head, thinking of stars, of night, bleak and absolute. If there's a fire, my motor instincts shall override, my legs shall drift and drag my body to safety. To ask me to do something with an acknowledgment at this moment is akin to asking a postman for mail. Automated reactions and delayed emotion, a triggered response to stimuli.
Eh, another day, another boring dollar....or 72 cents after taxes. Oh fuck, Hostel is today, my spirits have lifted, and I'm sure only to be crushed by the horrid state of the movie theatres in this city. Maybe I'll have to take a drive far out to a remote location for a peaceful viewing....not too remote, after all, I'm watching a film about people being tortured in desolate buildings. The joy of it all!