I'm going to take that red exit up to the lantern-stars and orbit around a disco ball mysteriously, imperiously, a trajectory majestic and true.
No, I will crane my neck and look far up at the floatey lights and small various bugs will burn and die and fall into my mouth. And I will choke from that crispy protean protein.
Okay. "Free-writing" time is over. Put away your crayons and let's take a nap, kiddies. I seem to remember an anecdote of my friend's sweet sixteen, which I wasn't at, because I was wasting away the extravagance of youth on Saturdays. I've never been to a sweet sixteen (don't PITY me!!) but apparently there's that candle-lighting thing and I got a dedication that went something like, blahblahblah janet, who will be so successful if she doesn't fall asleep first.
Haha. Who's the joke on nowwwwwwww...... errrr...
I am tired and sleepy and plumpisizing. For some reason, this makes me think of pincushions. I guess I am sort of on pincushions. If my dreams were to be reflecting my current state, I'd suppose it would take shape as a chase. And I am lost. in the wood/I know I could/always be good and late great jazz singers would be running behind me scatting and I'd be scooting. And former dead bugs would pass me by, waving to me with their little feet and laughing.
It's the night folks. And I'm sleepy. And I don't know what to do. And I'm losing attention, to give and perhaps to take, of myself and those around me (translation: I'm being a supreme and indecisive BORE. My manners are rather intact. I am not being a BOAR.) Why is it two steps forward and twenty steps back? Doesn't that mean there is something wrong with my shoes?
I greedily? want to be on a path but in flight at the same time. Orbit. Launched. Balanced. Not crashing to earth, my wings all burnt, the Icarus of Weariness comes Tumbling Down and Jill came Tumbling After.