puke

sleep. the place where a deeper unease can penetrate through sick bone and aching muscle, an unease so fine and lightweight it can settle even on the atoms of oxygen in your lungs, coat them with dread silt, weigh them down, so you puff restlessly all night and whimper into the dawn.

when i'm drifting into sleep, sometimes i jolt half awake for a moment, and i realize i feel scared. then i think about the things enveloping my life. what's outside the mist? surely goodness and mercy shall follow me, i dunno, it seems such a tall order. so then, i think -- and i'm half-awake, mind you -- this too shall pass. it must. i will reenter the world: free at last to choose from all its parts. not just forced to choose only one of them.

forced to choose. hmmm.. near sleep the mind throws words around. compulsion. independence. all that shit.

on any given night i dream of horses, car accidents, mental asylums, endless train journeys, storms, boats.

then in the morning, i wake up, there is nothing but fear, oceans of it, no boat to be seen, and how long can i dog-paddle? the water is everywhere, every direction i look. a mean day, the gray water. nothing is not fear. the day takes place.

this is so unsettling. things. events. they just happen, you don't control them. it's away from the madness of daylight, in my dreams, i find the sadness that my days just can't connect with. out in the day, i can only survive.

i would vomit up my life if i could.