I sit. Weary. Aching back and stiff shoulders. Bleary eyed and not sure what the time is. Or the day. I sit and wait for sleep. Sometimes I hope for it. Sleep's eluded me for months now. Since the big three O. I miss the swamp and everything that comes with it. I miss the swamp and its endless night. I miss the swamp. It used to scare me and then it didn't. The swamp became a refuge. I was up in it. Literally. Up to my neck. Then I stopped sleeping. Whats going on? I think I'm losing my mind. I think thats mostly whats going on.
I have a hundred rifles. Raquel Welch is in all of them. I'm listening to Tryptikon as we speak. Tom G Warrior's new band. Continuing along the merry lines of Monotheist. They're playing Roadburn too. I have a ridiculously large shopping list and it's only March. I shudder but grit my teeth and make a list.
I hope to one day own an island. That would be fun. With a waterfall or two and not too many bugs. Environmentally controlled would be preferable. Like a bubble or like Springfield in the movie but an island.
One of these days.
It seemed like we were traveling from signal to signal. Cutting our way through traffic, polluting the village with our cruel wit and cheap laughter. A hundred pointless Fridays. We thank God for this.
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