i usually have insomnia during the summer months.
i always feel like i'd be missing something if i went to sleep.
so i always just walk one more block, or read just a little more,
knowing that its three in the morning and no one is going to call.
but still believing there will be some kind of adventure.
the hope keeps me awake. the hope makes me useless the next day.
right now. last night. i have become quite spiritually fatigued.
but still one more drink.
one more girl.
one more embarrasing night.
the next one will make me happy.
the next one i will do right.
i am honestly befuddled by desire. the thing of it.
i hate being controlled. especially by something so base as the human instinct.
though, at the same time, i wonder:
is it the action that makes me feel empty, or have i just been so conditioned by upbringing that i believe i am supposed to feel empty?
maybe i am not doing it right.
i think anyone would feel empty after a night of sophmoric, frat-boy antics.
what if one could discover that rimbaudian joy of excess?
is there such a thing?
i dont know. i doubt my heart.
i am lost at sea with an untrusty compass.
9:18 a.m. - 2005-12-25
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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