the days

Someone came to me in a dream

So when I wrote 'la mer' in the sand labyrinth that we obsessively dugand ruby got mad with iz for being obsessed with building defences so the rising tide wouldn't wash out our mountain and knee deep hole (with inner walls, no less), when the both of us were already done with our determination, he looked at 'la mer' and said 'lamer' and laughed at iz, called him an asshole. The lamer clenched a ball of wet sand, his body vibrating, his eyes shut tight and his lips pinched, and turned around and threw the sand at ruby. It splattered a little on me like diarrhoea so I didn't really see how ruby pushed iz after saying the f word. After the whole thing they were tired and sullen. Boys.

The night is scary and thrilling. More and more I wake up every night to some sort of a deep orange world where the glow of a lamp is not light and luminous but heavy and dreadful. It is easy to be filled, like dark blue water in a sea with steady currents, by thoughts that are engulfing, dramatic, exotic, exaggerated, frightening, lush. It's easy to lie there passively allowing the thoughts to come and yet actively thinking them up with yourself being the ceaseless master endlessly and manically throwing things into a potent mixture. And it's tiring going through it but even though it can be sadness and loneliness and fear in the middle of the night, in your own safe haven, I'm guess I'm glad for me active brain. So when I wake up to a plain paper-bland morning, the ol' brain still swirls with the haunts of the night.