Sleep Prone/ Heart Narcolepsy

Random, abstract, twisty internal commentary. About (claustraphobic) village and (soul-crushingly monotonous jobs). A bit of hiccup philosophy.

I’m lying in the street. Can feel the heat that would pulsate. Can feel the beat mandate that rattles through everything. It’s in time with my ipod [I mean heart]. But vehicles are oblivious and there’s people delirious and they’ve places to get. They let me know the importance of the rendez-vous. They tell me clearly and monosyllabic. They indicate/elaborate with lights and horns and screaming engines.
And waking in the morning I remove a tyre track from my back –I take off my shirt. A fresh one makes me another undercover me –this skin keeping in automaton with cash-flow cravings. This one is a lover of repetition and a brother to faceless uniforms.
 

Inside [right inside] there’s a storm. Outside there’s a malnourished and eager conformity but the free-range [strangest of] mind over-rides even as the body goes through the motions.
The given notion is one of appeasement, short-circuit/ frequent and easy. And cheap? Preferably.

 

Once more; I’m lying down. I’m drowning in landslide visions of greed and waste and their [our] child-like distaste. It takes a day or three of misery for me to crawl free but it’s a breeze.
Lay beneath a rickety dining table, it shouldn’t be easy to watch heathens feed. But I breathe steady and through my mouth/ pinch nose and close eyes and know that I don’t belong. I feel the will to be gone. Say: “I can never step wrong if my heart’s fixed” [but bear in mind the blindside tricks and the soundlessness of a breaking heart].
I realise and observe, sadly [growing more madly]; we grind for the prize. We find comfort in eventuality and eventuality in the endlessness of searching.
 

Some might end up hurting and hot-headed –vexing for singularity. Some others might end up groping for shiny things. I think I’m somewhere in-between, being showered with spilled grease and cow pieces and insults and spittle. My pockets are swollen with I.O.Us.

 

Not lying down any longer, I would trek across a rotten sitcom village. Things will fall away that could weigh the world. They could weigh more than that and I wouldn’t bend. You need a hard back and a platinum mind and blind-luck and often.

And one more mouthful: to unwind, find a green room for equilibrium to blaze the night. Sigh/ shutdown your eyes and once again lie down.