Late Shift

Twelve, the zeros staring back at me like flaming red eyes. this is my waking hour, when I get back from the drudge to start the next.
One, the beginning of the wee hours. I'll read a book, or curl up with a film, a lover, a friend.
Three forty-nine. No one else left about. I turn back inward, philosophy my solace for a time.
Five twenty, the dead of night, just before the early birds rise to the day. It;s been too silent, too still. I feel as if I'm going mad, as I turn to glare back at: the wretched clock. Thirty-four Eighty-three. There it is.

Lunacy has it's perks.

I for one choose to revel in it, to enjoy my time apart from sanity. I prefer to be the insane and incredulous in a world of rules and regulations followed more for traditions sake than any form of rationality. I prefer to dance and scream and kill as if in a drug fueled frenzy of the mind, careless of the time, for all to see.

I am the only winner in the arms race of the mind, I am the tear that slowly unwinds the tapestry that you've so carefully constructed for yourselves to live in, the loose string that will loose hell.

I am what you fear, and what you await with baited breath. I am your deepest desire, for I am freedom, and I am truth, and I am everything you wish you could be, but cannot for fear of losing the masks you maintain.

To quote a completely fictional yet supremely powerful character, "I have a sickness in the brain. I'm allowed to make no sense to you puny mortals, with your fully operational head-meat."

So this is what it has come to. The sick preaching the healthy. I can't wait.

Java Java Java Java Java

"You know something... I like my women like I like my liqueur..."

"Hard and draining on the wallet?"

"No, euphoric, social, and strong."

"Oh. I like my women like I like my coffee."

"Warm, energetic, and there to welcome you in the morning?"

"No, tweaky, scalding, and addictive."

"Dude... that's messed up."

Work is not a place to have a conversation.

Wake up at noon. The mind fails to comply with the body. Or was it the vice? Go back to sleep.

Wake up at two. Stretch, yawn, decide it's too comfortable to ruin it with pants.

Wake up at four. Stretch, yawn, close eyes and try to pick up where the dream left off.

Five after four. Fail at recalling dream. Reluctantly rise.

Shower, smile, joke with my friends, brush teeth, acquire pants.

Decide pants are for losers, acquire pajamas.

Twelve seconds later, someone decides to actually go somewhere. I'll join them, why not. Acquire pants again, whilst grumbling.

Adventure. Laugh. Smile, make a lewd comment about someone. Laugh again, remind myself to do something nice for them later to make up for it.

Come home, make something entirely unnecessary to eat. Eat too much. Become lethargic.

Enjoy it.

Contemplate getting rid of pants again.

Go to a meeting, or work, or some such thing, probably. Have fun, or don't.

Come home, let out a sigh of relief, and play. Play at the pub, at the House, or even at home. Just play.

Four. Everyone else has gone to bed. Sigh, and pick up a good book, or something worth thinking about.

Think too much.

Five. Meditate on life, love, and the universe at large.

Five after five. Nuts to that, keep reading or start stumbling.

Six. Have some interesting revelation, or even just find a new way to word an old thought. Write it down. Smile, laugh.

Sleep, perchance to dream.

Rinse.

Repeat.