water sports and hearing voices.

not sleeping is weird... i feel like a criminal, and yet i don't know why. it's not like there is a victim here, and show me anybody who has ever written anything- even if its awful- and prove they wrote it in some conveniently-timed lunch hour under the hot sun. i think the night is just when i am supposed to be awake, and better, and writing if at all possible. which, lately, it is. and after years of stilted and uneasy crap being thrown out as soon as it was finally out of me and on paper and gone-zo? i think i've earned some right to stay up all night and not turn off the words in my head just because that's what lots of people might think they have to do. dude. i'm out here in god's country, it's surreal. and yet... i feel like i'm getting warmer and my voice is right there on the other side of the pool... oh no wait, that's marco polo and i'm officially altogether old and out of touch for not remembering that childhood moment accurately. i should go ahead and end this brutality sooner than later.......

marco.

polo.