Outside Forces

October 23, 2009
2:10 a.m.

Lately, I feel so many outside forces attempting to disarm me of my dreams.
But now, in this moment, I have one that fights for me -- ironically, insomnia.
Insomnia is what gives me my hope.
All a concoction of too much alcohol and caffeine.
Maybe a few nightmares.
I adore my nightmares, but they're generally stressful dreams that wouldn't transfer to others.
Running from the cops. Trying to solve all my problems in an afternoon. Insects devouring me.
Maybe those would translate, maybe they wouldn't.

I want to write something about a lactose intolerant kid who is hiding from the zombies in a deep freezer. Oh, God, that's got to be the worst zombie scenario ever. Nothing but ice cream to eat, nothing but cold, no light, no windows and no way out. I mean, the poor kid could have picked a latrine to hide in instead. That'd be preferable. And when the power goes out, when all that ice starts to freeze and the meat starts to smell, God, that will be the worst.

Nixon had his coma.
Dracula had his funeral.
I too, must rest once in a while.

My mentality is a beehive that never sleeps.
Awake, my thoughts never find a home.
I can write it down, as Kafka did, and as he said, it loses meaning.
But sometimes it gains a new meaning.

A seaside home sighs for occupation again.
Sheets cover the furniture, boards over the windows.
How the home lies in disrepair, exactly as revisited memories.

Nothing important hasn't been done.
Nothing important won't be done.
When God turns off the light, everything will be in its right place.
I hope that for myself.
Like a cup, taken from the cupboard, drank from, rinsed and replaced.
I would come from the earth and be placed back beneath the ground.
Like a seed.
I too, must rest once in a while.