Okay, I can't sleep. So here I am, wasting away precious minutes of life on my computer. Everyone I know is dreaming or drunk, and I am sitting Indian-style in my bed, with the fan overpowering the lyrics of every song that plays on my iTunes. What a bland time I am having. So bland that I can even taste it on my tongue.
Do you all like it when I write like that? When I change one normal thought that your brain can easily disassemble into one that takes additional thinking?
It's bound to be the witching hour. If I were to turn off this music and this fan and this computer, I would hear nothing, feel nothing, sense nothing, be nothing. The night would take over the moment. It would seep into this corner-room like smoke slowly escaping from a pair of lungs, surrounding me and wrapping around everything in sight, taking its own desired path. Who here has read The BFG by Roald Dahl? If you have, you know why I am bringing up the witching hour. Amazing book, by the way.
David Hale.
Go! He brings me serenity that makes it hard to sleep.
His art makes me want to write. Which is something I've been having a tough time with lately, if you haven't noticed. (And I am willing to bet that most of you have not. Oh, and that's not negativity. That's just truth.)
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Twitter
About Me
Blogging
The way my brain works seems queer. I walk about this earth in a manner as everyone else. In such a hurry to get from place A, to B, finish task X and talk to person Y. But sometimes I think about what I'm doing and how I'm living in a way that is artistic. The words swirl into perfect formation, and reflects my heart to a T.