Last night was strange to say the least. Otherworldly, in fact. I feel asleep around 1am, only I never really fell asleep. Mostly, it was an onslaught of dreams and me waking, for whatever reasons, dozens of times. Many dozens. I finally got out of bed slightly more tired than I was when I went to sleep, and I haven’t slept since. I’m tired, I think, and I want to sleep, I think, but instead I just keep doing things. Sleep is beginning to frighten me. Maybe it’s because the novel I’m writing relies so heavily on dreams that are more than dreams, that now I’m experiencing too many dreams, and some dreams that feel like more than dreams. Half the time I’m only partially asleep and already dreaming, and yet it’s still not entirely lucid.
It’s more of my subconscious continuing to fuck me in various ways, in various positions that you only see in the most hardcore of pornographic videos, of which I am somewhat of a connoisseur. For educational and artistic purposes, of course. None of that smutty stuff. I’m an aficionado of art.
I’ve been brainstorming another short piece of fiction for the blog but I’m not quite there yet. I have a general idea, but I don’t know how to begin fleshing it out, making it seem real and whatnot. But I’m close, I think. Hopefully tomorrow, if the day does not prove too hectic, which I might. Or maybe tonight, after I go swimming.
Yes, I know it’s cold out tonight, but I love doing laps in the dark. I turn off all the lights, those in my house and the pool, and just swim in the dark. Usually I stare at the stars while I swim, and I get really deep into my thoughts, sometimes with music but sometimes with just the music of the night—not the song from Phantom of the Opera, which is probably my favorite from the play.
Tonight, while swimming, I’ll probably brainstorm more.
I’ve been really happy and surprised with my blog’s turnout. More people have told me that they’ve enjoyed my writing, that they’ve been following the blog, or just reading it time from time, both of which are welcomed and appreciated. Somehow, Funeral Parlor Love is getting an absurd amount of hits compared to anything else I’ve posted…which makes sense because this is the internet and having sex with dead people is awesome…or something like that? Just kidding, unless you’re into that kind of thing.
It always makes me wonder who’s out there reading. I’m almost certain I lost my self-proclaimed “biggest fan of my blog”, which hurts deeply for multiple reasons. Sad times for Michael. But I could be wrong, I guess. It just doesn’t seem that way. As the Magic Eightball says—I refer to him for all my major decisions—All signs point to yes. That’s very unfortunate for me, as the above mentioned fan was the major contributor to why I continued this blog which such fervor in the beginning. Perhaps, in a way, to why I started it.
But alas, I shall trudge forward and continue to write, despairingly content. That’s not as bad as it sounds. Actually a good place to be. I assume Poe hovered somewhere around despairingly content, only he took more drugs and fucked more of his cousins than I do.
Let’s end today’s post on Poe quote…only there’s so many to choose from, and his thoughts mirror mine so well. So let’s end with two.
The first.
Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.
So true. Makes me want to watch I Heart Huckabees. You really should watch that if you haven’t yet.
And, finally…
If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.
Yes, Poe, yes it is.
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