Perhaps my body is bad at cooling itself down. One of a number of personal features that I seem only recently to realise their existence.
Perhaps I don’t want to hear the neighbour’s dog or the beastly sound of the garbage truck at whatever god forsaken time it roars into my street.
Machines make such lovely lullabies don’t you know?
Machines for machines.
I could have made a T-shirt with that slogan, if only I could find a graphic artist to draw it with a fancy background and really kick-ass fonts
Perhaps I need to burrow somewhere and the only thing available is a bed cover.
One of fear’s many disguises
I keep a light cover on the bed in preparation for Summer.
Such a ridiculous paradox!
I keep stumbling on articles about people dying these days.
I may have gotten a death overdose.
I realise the need to face our collective mortality – it looks like I’ve been doing that for years now – but this is getting a bit too much.
‘I’m dying and I want everybody to read about it!’ blurbs an article header in a British newspaper.
I will not. I already read that a couple of months back, when someone else was dying and wrote about it.
But he used a different title.
On a games site, an interview with someone who made a video game about the death of his small child
I could go on but I will not.
Time to stop reading anything longer than an email.
Short poems are in perhaps, and maybe tweets and text messages.
Fortunately human language cannot – as yet – describe the abyss of death in 140 characters, even with the latest emojis.
I may be breaking down a bit.
Breaking down is a bit of a misnomer
Fossilising is a more fitting description
Or maybe I’m turning into a tree, like in those ancient Greek legends where the gods turned people into trees and bushes because they wanted to fuck their wives or something
My memories of Greek mythology are a bit sketcy nowadays.
I always write these long posts and can never find a fitting way to end them gracefully.
They do at least end honestly.