two twenty. AM. 2:21. AM. Two 21. AM.
why am I so restless?
coffee. wheat thins. crumbs. caffeine. caf
–feine. feign. feigning
kindness. questions I have for
are you neurological? genetic? psychological?
physical? are you the thoughts churning through my head rapid-pace
without regard for gravity, space, time?
the 100 grams of caffeine laced in my vanilla-creme 2-sugar-packed
coffee branching through my veins?
are you concern?
are you anticipation?
are you planning? are you planning something? are you so busy planning something
the irony of sleeplessness lies in the
heaviness of my lids, of my eyes–I just
thought they’d have been lighter, with everything lit up under my eyes
lit up under my eyes lit up under my
eyes crumbs all over my keyboard
cover lit up under my eyes
In between ceramic tiles, I empathize with Murakami’s characters (disjointed, numb). I’m reminded of how disconnected I’d once felt, as if this was myself but somehow it wasn’t. I tossed and turned, ran through storms, writhed in bed. Wondered: and so how did she, this other self, feel? Because I felt nothing.
Between shallow breaths I remind myself to scale down. So I scale down. In a giant desert, I am box-like. I am a face of a salt crystal on a pink salt mountain. And collectively we are all salt grains tumbling through something vast and strange and inexplicable.
“I like you; your eyes are full of language.”
[Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]”
In a crafty fury I’ve gone out and bought a new sketchbook, postcard book and scrapbook materials. I’ve been crafting like a wild crafts storm, spending hours pasting, trimming, doodling, painting, etc. Here’s a glimpse at something I digitally sketched today.