Sometimes I find myself trying not to sleep while I’m biting down on my own teeth realizing I just need to think and breathe. Counting sheep doesn’t work but the thought of counting does.
During times like these I form into a shapeless mass like what happens when water and street oil meet. And although there isn’t much to hold there seeps a feeling deep beneath the thick comforter that is my psyche and waits for sleep as it lingers on to all the colors and shading. There is where I reflect universally.
Sometimes I feel the urine gather inside my boxer briefs and other times my ass is itchy. I believe it has something to do with my diet or my negative thoughts over the past months and weeks. Sometimes I try catching up to speed, but catching up to speed is like having no legs and giving a go at swimming. Even without use of some ligaments we find ourselves walking Think Street into early mornings. Around here is usually where I let my jaw release so it can finally bow back into a looser hold where my thoughts find somewhere else to bleed.
Sometimes I unearth the rational that most people are monsters. Other times I discover their beings extraordinary. Sometimes, but not often enough we connect spiritually. Overall I’d say we just use each other for gain. Sometimes words really get to me. Other times it’s mainly beauty. Even monsters can look beautiful in the right kind of light on a strange sort of night.
Sometimes beauty is a beast. Such is so when someone’s face begins splitting at the seams. Imagine a pair of lips on a window shade drawstring? A half photograph as its dissolving. Or maybe even a film placed over the eye like contact lensing. Stop here for your tickets to the show because more often than most life feels like a movie reel.
Sometime I read and write and wish I knew myself better than I think I do. I close my eyes when I find the time and notice my heart’s enclosed inside a block of ice not quite strong enough to break free. Then I picture myself with a pick axe chipping away at the frozen slab which seems like it’ll take forever and a day to escape. Sometimes mere moments last an eternity, and others are gone without them even occurring.
What happens to the man with the photographic memory that tends to hold on for too long? What happens to the memory since memories are like tendencies and tendencies never tend to leave? Do what feels right they always say and I guess I can’t complain with a stomach full and a roof above me well equipped with half sufficient insulating.
Sometimes when robots are identified I can empathize. And I think music will forever be the answer, the cure and we as human’s bottom denominator. As thoughts chirp and spring out of me I can’t help but contemplate all the fallacies. Sometimes I find time where normalcies are out of sight and out of mind. Sometimes I even think about you.
This has been “Sometimes I Find Time” by Brad Rundblade, a part of our Lost in Time Sleepless Stories Series.