Embrace sleep.

Stream of Consciousness Experiment. I'm so tired right now. I have an exam in the morning I have not studied for. I'm such a terrible student. I'll be blogging more regularly now that summer is here.

White dress nestled among them,
Hanging by fleshy appendage rather than wire.
Eye grabs eye for short moment,
Red lips purse into upward corner.
White teeth flash and thick brow rises in response.

Man forms in favored suit.
Newly created mind floats through possibilities;

Skin brushes against skin,
Soft word spoken into flattered ear,
Trip taken on road without destination,
Arm embraces waist beneath starry sky.

Foot steps forward confidently then hesitates.
Coy smile disappears inside disappointed frown.
Metal screeches against metal with high pitched squeal.
Dress floats out open door into bright sunlight.
Brief dream bubbles dissipate in the air.

Empty suits on a train.

She was outside with him.

The sky was beautiful. It was the type of sky that only comes around every once in a while. When I think of it, I imagine a splash of purples and oranges. The clouds would be illuminated in such a way that the shadows would fully define their fluffy, irregular shape.

She saw that the sky was beautiful and wanted to keep it, put it in her pocket.

She exclaimed, "The Sky is so beautiful! Take a picture of it!"

He looked at her quizzically. "Whatever for?"

"So you can keep it and look at it later."

He shook his head, "No, I'm going to enjoy it right now. Taking a picture would only ruin it. When it's gone, it's gone."

She gave him a weird look, not understanding what he meant. He said a lot of strange things that she didn't understand.

Only later when he'd left, would she understand.

Blankets thrown on a couch

lumps stir beneath

a foot here, an elbow there

giggles and shouts

"You're tickling me!"

"Get your foot out of my mouth!"

A bright red face emerges out into the open,

To gasp for air before diving back beneath the layers.

Knees and foreheads bump together.

Love is weird

I see you little girl,
Shrinking away from bright smiles and warm embraces.
The glint of suspicion in your eyes.

A pad of paper and pencil clutched to your breast.
A portal to imaginary friends,
the only kind to be trusted.

I know why you are afraid.
The sins of the father unjustly forced upon the daughter.
Will this cycle ever end?

EDIT: I feel a lot better now. I called up some friends and checked up on them. This feeling like all things passes in time and can be waylaid by showing a little initiative.

I feel lonely.

My roommate is laying down on the lower bunk beneath mine. He's on his computer reading. We stopped connecting a long time ago. We're just too different. An invisible Berlin Wall runs through the middle of our room, keeping us from speaking to each other. I want to paint graffiti on it and write nasty things.

I feel abandoned.

The medicinal laughter and knowing looks of a good friend are replaced with silence and the glow of a computer screen. It's always the same story. I let someone dig their hooks into me. Then a girl, work, or some new opportunity comes along and pulls them away, ripping fresh wounds into my skin. I stand there bleeding while they disappear off into the horizon.

I want to start over.

It's hard to start over in the same place. Everything is a reminder of the past. When I'm in a familiar place, I can see the ghostly images of the past overlaying the present. People that are no longer here running around campus in transient forms.

There's a party outside.

I can hear laughter and music. Why am I such a wet blanket? Why does it seem to be inherent to my nature? I wish I was not so negative.

I need a hug.

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My sleep had been troubled. I sat up and peered out into the night. Everything was still, covered in a thin film of silver moonlight. Sheets, damp with perspiration, were twisted about my feet. I tried to recall what I had dreamed, but the images that had haunted me slowly seeped from view into the back of my head. All that remained was the darkness of the room and a curious sense of alertness. I felt aware of everything, an understanding that rarely pervades the ordinariness of life. A warm breeze blew through the screen of my open window, tickling the hairs on my arm. The chirping of crickets filled the air, occasionally accompanied by the staccato barking of the neighbor’s dog. The aroma of earth and grass was strong. I smiled and inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the sweet air.

This wasn’t the first time I’d awakened to this sensation. It happened on occasion, usually when least expected. When one lives life day after day stuck in the mind, the body will eventually wake up and demand attention. I glanced over at the clock resting on my bedside table; it was a little after half past twelve, the height of the witching hour. I smiled to myself. I felt like some unnatural being, awakening while the rest of humanity slept. Taking care to make as little noise as possible, I stumbled into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that lay in the middle of my room. I could hear the sound of light snoring drifting in from the living room.

I stepped lightly, pausing every few steps to listen for signs of movement. After what seemed an unnaturally long amount of time, I reached the living room. My father was stretched out on the largest couch, his gut rising up and down in a slow hypnotic rhythm. I studied his face for any signs of wakefulness. His mouth was drawn downward into a frown and his eyelids seemed to be slightly strained. I proceeded with an added degree of cautiousness over to the back door and placed my damp hand on the doorknob. Wincing, I turned the knob slowly. Each click of the locking mechanism caused my heart to stop for a brief instant. My father let out a fitful exhale and turned over onto his other side. The reality of freedom seemed to hang by a thread; any more noise and my father would surely waken. I opened the door wide enough to fit my thin frame through and slipped outside. Shutting the door quietly behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief.

My bicycle lay in the middle of the backyard. Rust encrusted its chain and weeds poked their unsightly tendrils through the spokes. It had lain neglected there for weeks. A quick squeeze of the tires proved, surprisingly, that it was still fit to be ridden. I lifted the bike upright onto its two wheels and rolled it out into the alleyway, a narrow corridor that seemed to go on forever. Nobody cares about the alley. Grass and weeds are left to grow uncut in thin strips behind decaying wooden fences. Trashcans are half-hazardly left at the curb, waiting for their contents to be emptied and carried off to the landfill. Cars are parked in driveways, partially obscured behind fences, so that the house’s inhabitants can come and go relatively unseen; we all live together in isolation.

I mounted the seat, propping myself up with a leg planted firmly on the ground and the other resting on a pedal. The alley was slightly sloped toward the street it intersected. For a second I just stood there at the top motionless, ready to push off. I don’t know why I hesitated. Maybe it was to relish the moment or maybe part of me feared giving into the feeling that compelled me to move forward. I exhaled. It was as if I was letting all my thoughts and emotions out in a single puff of air. There was no thought, just basic primal feeling.

I pushed off, propelling myself forward. My legs pumped up and down rapidly like the pistons on a steam engine. My speed began to increase at an exhilarating rate. The wind rushed past my face, tossing my hair about in every direction and filling my ears with an increasingly loud roar. I spread my legs out in front of me, letting momentum carry me forward. I tossed my head up towards the night sky and let out a howl.

The end of the alley came more quickly than I had anticipated, causing me to slam on my breaks. I skidded for a couple of feet before coming to a complete stop. Everything was once again quiet and peaceful. I could hear dogs barking enviously in response to my howling, unable to escape from their own imprisonment.

The street was empty save for a couple of cars parked on the side of the curb. I could do what I liked without the interference of a car trying to impede upon my own autonomy of movement. Nobody knew where I was. For the first time in a long while I felt like my own man, even though my house was less than a hundred yards away. No one would come running if I didn’t show back up within a couple of hours. They wouldn’t even realize I was gone for another eight.

The feeling began to point me in the direction of the city park. I pushed off again and began to rhythmically push the pedals up and down. I rode in silence for a long while, my surroundings blending into some generic impressionist collage of cookie cutter houses and neatly cut lawns. A dull ache began to spread up my thigh. This caused me to push even harder. I welcomed the sensation readily and eagerly. The pain made me feel more alive. I felt like an ascetic. Only instead of monotonous self-flagellation, I constantly pumped the pedals of my bike up and down.