mood: sleeplessmusic: 'eight line poem' by david bowie

the sun is rising in the window behind me and i fear to look back and face it. not because i dread tomorrow, but because i hate that feeling you get when you know you're gonna have to go to sleep amidst chirping birds and pale blue sunshine.

if you're reading this, you either in the wrong place or you're a somebody. and if you're a somebody, you know which somebody you are. you're the somebody.

you'll notice i changed things a little bit. this is not to escape the past. this is for the future. maybe this is the beginning of something new?

i haven't written here in a while because i found it to be a bit redundant. really though, the things i write here i can never write anywhere else. the journal? too secluded. addressed notes? too much purpose. so i write here about my mind. in the very real dangers of having them read by the curious, the lost, and the somebodies.

and so i will get to bed, not only because i can hear the voices of my consciences (both internal and external) telling me to get some fucking sleep, but because i don't have my insomniac's reader around to help put me to sleep with strange thoughts and ponderings. i will, though, do something that harkens back to the days when i first started pouring my soul into the ethereal plain of the internet: show and tell.

Ah, that would be the life: simple responses
to big worries. I could yell at my food to tell it
I was coming to kill it & I'd let people know I loved them
by hitting myself, purple splotches blossoming
on my chest like clouds. Anybody could see
there was something inside that hurt so much I wanted it out.

- Nate Pritts, Apeman

---Goei---