April 24, 2008...3:27 am
Throwing punches at the night air
I’ve been going through a miniature version of writers block. Although I must admit that what’s really happening is much more a version of motivational lack than any true block of inspiration or lack of words to say. I did stay up late last night and conjured up a short short. It’s nothing to write home about (gotta love cliches!), but with all the windows open wide in my room I found inspiration from the thundering footsteps of strangers. This is what happens when the air conditioning fails you and the noise of drunk college students meandering home fills your dreams at night. Oh, and when you watch Dexter before sleeping. That show makes you think all sorts of sinister thoughts.
The Things in the Night
In the night I hear footsteps. I can feel every tread crash into the walls and send shock waves throughout my nervous system. I haven’t left my bed in days, in weeks. It seems I’ve forgotten how to wake, how to eradicate my dreams and the ticks laced in my unwashed sheets that nibble on my flaky flesh. No one, not a single person loves me. If they did they would have found me lying here 15 days, 7 hours, and 22 minutes ago trapped in limbo. If I knew what happened I would tell you, but that night, tonight, tomorrow night, they are all a blur to my 20/20 vision. The one thing I can tell you though is that at least I know why I’m here, numb to everything but what surrounds me. I got here because I used psalms to roll my weed and when I was twelve I told my youth pastor to go fuck himself. I don’t think I’d take either of those things back, but if given the chance I would definitely have told Dante to go fuck himself too. He really messed with my image of hell. If I would’ve known that hell was just like life maybe I would’ve recited my hail Marys. Maybe.
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