Why am I not sleeping?

Townes Van Zandt may be partially responsible. The live recordings are taking over my life, currently.

Also see:

*jittery over all the bike stuff happening in the next week (let's inspect this a little closer):

1. Redline Conquest Pro shall arrive
2. Carbon fiber fork fer de C'dale + new tires 
3. Messenger bag in the morning (aka a few hours)
4. Doing bike stuff and getting drunk on Sunday

Need I say more? Nah. 

Actually, yah. 

I need more books. Haven't read in a while and this upsets me. Plan to start writing here soon, kind of fell off the horse with the recent quarter. Starting into a new one is going to be very refreshing - finally! I'm through being drowned in terrible/uninteresting poetry by people who don't give a shit about it. 

Its time for bed. 

Night. 

Just exercising

The predated undertaking permitted; this space is a collection of sleight of hand basking in its motion (forgetting itself constantly; constantly reborn) nodding to sleep and now lateral on the couch then hardwood now with its hand on my chest in bed. I take some of the air like a participate in a game show: w/ large face scanning who-knows-where, the breasts all staring the men/are unshaven this year. Sick, or just underfed - this is my determining factor: everything small is unknown. When my hand sets something down, it does so blindly. The world is a shelf and everything is relatable, all trembling and cold.