insomnia.

heavily breathing. just like my dog when she needs a bit of water. drained, then stopped by a clump of matted hair. strung out, stressed, stretched and worn out from too many smiles. the good times are exhausting. i wish i could sleep, but the two cold-brew coffees i drank at midnight have turned my body into a cage and my brain outside in. the church bells are ringing and they're staying with me in my inside-out brain.

i am not in advertising, i do not own a mac, nor do i have an acute understanding of modern technology, and i enjoy pretzels. the crunchiest pretzels. i don't do much in cold weather and i'm kind of scrappy and what i know is coffee, sex, the sand and the water, and the blues. i know the bright whites, too. people smiling makes me smile and joy brings me joy and tragedy is tragic and i relate. but. (there are always buts.) i should be doing something! something! maybe i'll start using a mac and make lots of money just to sit in front of it. it will surely make the world a better place to exist. my worst nights working only toward the next moment are better than my best days in a sweet-fuck-all cubicle.

my life is not a lottery! incredibly inedible, requisite inevitable credibility. how silly you look, spilling down this town's crooked cinder hills. hindered thrills, they're fill-in's. really. how many holes have you got in you? plenty. there aren't as many in me. your eyes are shut, incredibly. inedible credibility grows steadily free, and i disagree but apparently, it grows on trees.