I was home. I was angry. I was,
as they say (meaning, of course,
as I’m saying...as I’m saying, I was),
stressed out. Sleeping came, but
only in fits and spurts (and not
the good kind). I’m not known
to sleepwalk, there are many
folks who would or could come
forward as witness, easily,
if I were a sleepwalker, so
the evidence is stacked
against that notion, but I
found on Saturday morning
that I’d walked all the way
to someone’s place, let’s say
we’d been more than just
acquainted even before this
exuberant incident. I crawled
into bed with him (see, I am
remembering). What followed
was fun, quite nice (ah, memory!).
When next I awaken, my first thoughts
aren’t very comfortable. I can recall
this pleasant, very chill, very free-
flowing timespread from the previous
night with ease, but it is evident to me
that it has gone, that it will have dis-
appeared, everything about it. How
wonderful it was in those moments,
how easy, normal, and momentarily
infinite. Disappearing acts make me
sad. One hundred eighty degree
shifts, just like that. Infinite. In-
finitesimal. This produces an
increase in negative space and
reduces capacity. Why, I wonder,
did I keep thinking, keep writing
“horribly exuberant,” when I was
simply trying to erase reality? To-
day’s subject is horrible. Our topic
for this week is going to be death.
and here is another recording just for fun:
