Sep 21, 2009

Sleepy time!

Exhausted, I throw my keys on the floor, upon entering my flat

I kick my boots to the wall, not checking to see where the cat is

Both miss, thankfully, but she nearly hit the ceiling from the abrupt impact

I flop onto my mattress in the back room; taking my clothes off standing up would take

Too much effort. Wriggling out of them was more fun anyways

Somewhere on the bed was a wayward crumb, which found its way into my hair.

Thinking it was a tick, I pulled it out and flicked it towards the bathroom

“Tomorrow,” I murmured “I’ll flush you”

You didn’t have to tell me

To shut my eyes. I knew exactly how to sleep

Sometimes, we know better than other nights

Above me, a strange buzzing noise grew out of the mortar and PVC

My upstairs neighbor’s phone was on vibrate

And it wasn’t long until I heard him frantically searching for it

A chuckle escaped my parched mouth,

Picturing this Orson Welles of a man

Hustling to some rogue caller

“It’s under your chair,” I whispered “You know, the one you can’t get out of anymore”

Lulled by his conversation

Which was muffled by the insulation

I drifted off to sleep

Tomorrow

Would be

Another day.


Hum

“Master, tell me, how can one make the words themselves

Simple, yet cryptic, bold, yet refined, easy to understand, yet thoughtful

Dance from the paper to the mind itself?

How is it possible that a word itself

Can change a sentence to a moment?

A paragraph to an experience?

A page to a journey?

What ideas fuel the writing?

Furtive

Bleak

Intrepid

How can I turn a dialogue into a conversation?

And a word into a smile?

What is the difference between a rookie and a journeyman?”

“The answer, son, is one so simple

Spellbinding in theory, intangible to many

The aspect of writing is not to

Draw one’s soul onto the page

It is the opposite.

Take your page and press it to your heart.

Let your inner being perform rituals around the fire

Bellow with glee in creativity

For the art comes not from the soul

It comes with it.”