Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Rambling Past Midnight

I am knocking on the ragged edge of well past midnight and too little sleep and it looks to be out of reach for a while yet.

I spin down a trailing memory of music, carpets, cigarettes smokes, laughs shared over a drink.

There, here, somewhere, there is an answer being born that when it falls will fall on the willing.

The willing.

I’m a mix of past and future present today, a spiral, a whirl. My days are dreary silence, my nights are spent spinning, and spinning, and even my own quiet orgasms bring no surcease to the mad churning of my brain.

Spectral creature, I am night thing, creatrix, blossom, blooming, living. I am. I remind myself, I am. I am. Am.

There is night all around me and I want to be a part of the night. I want strong drink and strong women. I want to see chains, the freedom that comes at the end of pain, either causing or receiving. A supplicant with no place to sup I toss about on the flotsam jetsam of onyx uncaring, the dark sweep of mother night.

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