Too Tired To Think

There’s something to be said for being too tired to do anything. Many people find it deplorable to push one’s waking consciousness to the brink of oblivion, as if it were some drug or drink of choice for those plagued by guilt of sin… Wait, that’s exactly why I marvel in it so! There’s something to be said for anything that has the ability to make you forget who you are or why you’re up so late in the first place.

For a few moments before I fall asleep, there is an infinity. If I am lucky enough to wake up right after these fleeting moments, I vainly try to recapture the moment. The best I can describe it is a pure sense of black and smooth. A theory of this form isn’t something to be frightened of, for there is a sense of light permeating the blackness– it’s almost as if it’s a LCD display with a poor contrast ratio. And the smoothness reminds me of babies or peaches with little fuzzes. It’s all so perfect and nearly impossible to express in waking thought, let alone words.

I think I should be thankful for something every week, every day, and every time I can think to be thankful. Today, I thought about how wonderful it was that I was too tired to be upset or sad, or even happy or contemplative of happy memories. I existed, right before sleep, as nothingness. I am so thankful that I can become tired so easily; it’s a nice escape.

Tickling the Ivories

It’s something you can’t take away, it’s my own.
It’s black and white,
my punching bag.
I play it for no one, only myself,
and I am really not that good.

It’s mine, though,
and there’s nothing you can every do
to play it for me.

So, stop. Go read a bible. Play hide and go fuck-yourself. I HATE YOU. Teen angst, I blame it on teen angst.

I’m going to go play.


I felt like I really should say something. Let me leave you with the most important scientific discovery ever.

My heart trembles like a poor leaf.
The planets whirl in my dreams.
The stars press aginst my window.
I rotate in my sleep.
My bed is a warm planet.

– Marvin Mercer