At 4am.

There is a sense of irony when one is awake at 4am, having to be awake for the entire day coming and having been tired just a few hours before drinking about a litre of red bull, and listening to insomniac music. Or at least that's how I see Cog. They keep me company when I drive home late at night. Doors (Now and again my life feels like it's going nowhere) is quite a stroke of mastery when it comes to sequential and insomniac-comforting music. Vraiment, a lot of this makes no sense. But there isn't a whole lot one is able to do, when one cannot make sense of the reason for not making sense.

The circularity of unnatural waking hours is also an interesting phenomena that should I ever be one concerned with the workings of the human mind, I should like to investigate. That circularity being the wake-wake-wake-wake-fitfulsleep-wake cycle that eventually leads to the mad and trance-like state that insomniacs find themselves in.

I found this quote

It's at night, when perhaps we should be dreaming, that the mind is most clear, that we are most able to hold all our life in the palm of our skull. I don't know if anyone has ever pointed out that great attraction of insomnia before, but it is so; the night seems to release a little more of our vast backward inheritance of instincts and feelings; as with the dawn, a little honey is allowed to ooze between the lips of the sandwich, a little of the stuff of dreams to drip into the waking mind. I wish I believed, as J. B. Priestley did, that consciousness continues after disembodiment or death, not forever, but for a long while. Three score years and ten is such a stingy ration of time, when there is so much time around. Perhaps that's why some of us are insomniacs; night is so precious that it would be pusillanimous to sleep all through it! A "bad night" is not always a bad thing. ~Brian W. Aldis

to be of no help. whatsoever. maybe a little. in fact it's quite true, the idea that it is when we have nothing else to think about that we have such clarity of mind. i am visited by bizarre and often ungainly thoughts in my realms of sleep. when i am falling asleep, i often find i am in the company of people, of things, of entities, that seem so very real, yet so very dream like. i wonder if they are my subconscious, or what. i don't really know what else. it's like i know things, am told things, and am subconsciously aware of them, with no real idea what it is i am knowing, or being told, or becoming aware of. i can't begin to explain what this is without sounding absolutely crazy, so i shan't try. not for the fear of crazy thing, just for the fact that i can't actually explain it. when i am sleeping, my dreams are so real, so vivid. i live in my dreams, but i am so much not who i am. if anything in my dreams, i am undefined, i don't have an identity, a me. it is a liberating thing, being free from restrictive labels and preconceptions, from expectations. it is in my dreams that i'm free, yet - oh, oh, irony dancing on a table with little clothing and less inhibitions - it is all trapped inside my little, little head.

then, at 5am, i get here, tired as all shit, ready to beat myself into a pulp, the ugly taste of red bull and jager sitting heavy at the back of my throat, speaking in tongues to friends of old. in some hours, i will be going to play through the annals of music history, then to dine finely, to fuck, to who knows what, to sleep, to get up and go. i grow weary at the thought. oh, i want to weep, but my tear ducts dried up trying to lubricate my eyes as they kept blinking, going, blinking more. ow. my eyes.