postentious
still thinking
When I was little, I was obsessed by the fact that I was an alien sent down to spy on earth. I figured out that my wiring had gone wrong, and that's the only reason I doubted that I might not be alien. I thought there would be a team of concerned aliens worried about the botch job that they'd made on me, and that they'd apologise for the disastorous spinning consequences had had, such as lack of self belief, yada3, when I was rescued and woke up on the space ship Maybe they left before me. It leaves out family though.
Would it be good to wake up alone and memless on a beach somewhere at night? Wouldn't it?
I was in the north of a southern country and I had spent two nights sleeping rough, one behind a service station and another in a doorway. I always wanted to sleep rough in a strange city in a doorway. Someone spat on me, but that's life. It was as if I were alive. You have to be trusting to sleep in public, and I'm not, but two nights with little sleep makes your choices blurry. Still, I heard myself whisper "everybody hates a toursit", thanks, Jarvis, before I went to sleep. I went to a park and had a cigarette when I woke up, and I was really, really thirsty. I remember thinking "am I not faking yet". That was when I thought I knew stuff, like what absolute and relative were, and how I could tell if I were real. Now I know third conditionals, and If clauses. Some other times, I like to remember what it was like in 1994 reading pages on the Internet late at night, wondering what was happening, now, now, then, in San Fransisco. Thinking about it, I get the same sort of feeling.
The other day, I was in a cafe. I was having a coffee and watching the windows mist up and people rush by in the rain, and there was a glitterball in the cafe, and it lit up above the door, and I watched it go round and round, and I looked at the cresent my coffee cup had made on the table, and I wondered where the sugar had come from, like there were tentacles crossing the whole world, and one stretched thousands of miles, from the sugar farm, to this organic cafe. I didn't even want to think about the drugs I'd just taken. It made me feel small, and I thought, "if I feel so small, why do my problems feel so big". But they do, so sorry, God.
there was a time that I could smile with the sunrise, though now I sleep till alarmed, I don't mind. I don't mind one bit. It means I'm getting older, the sand is slipping.
