Friday, January 16, 2009

I've slept in this room more than anywhere else in the world. Of twenty-seven years, I'd guess maybe six years of accumulated sleep has occurred outside these walls. I don't know what I do when I sleep or how the space I sleep in affects me, but I can't help believing that means something.

I haven't stayed the night back home for a while. There was a pattern emerging, or, I saw what I wanted to see to find a pattern. Lying in this bed, in this room I've slept and dreamed and breathed most of my life in, I'd fall down a hole. No matter what my state of mind, no matter what the events of the day, closing the door and turning the light out guaranteed me a tearstorm and no sleep.

Half believe in the idea of the memory that space keeps of us.

I don't believe this room holds good memories of me.

I'm turning the light out now.


  1. And the rooms all smell like diesel
    And you take on the
    Dreams of the ones who've slept here.

    Good luck.

  2. Well, I dunno about diesel...I like to think I wash regularly and don't smell. And I don't hang around diesel.