extract the music
If I could mix sounds from songs,
combining the snatches of music
that form a dialogue with myself
as I lay sleepless for another night
in the main place for philosophy, my bed….
With the lights out, without the
hint of unconsciousness I want and need,
I run out of nothing to concentrate on
and start up with music.
Asking for love, denying it, chiding
myself and others, going crazy, being
there for a while, and considering leaving to
read and occupy those thousands of firing
impulses in my head—this is a pretty accurate
description of an insomniatic night.
Maybe I should seek help. Exercise
more, and spend energy, eat and drink less,
meditate, kill some brain cells, get a life
so that the dark half isn’t misspent
bending my mind and ratting up my
little soul until it looks like a flag that’s
been aloft for months at a time.
If I could cut the music out of my
head, the beats that make the rhythm of
sleep impossible to attain, and make them
an album, then the world would never
sleep again. The world would listen to
my music, weeping with my
tragedies and being angry with me,
and never sleeping as long as those thoughts
and notes were ruling their hearts.
If I can’t sleep, then at least I’ll no
longer be starved for understanding company.
I don’t want to create something great—
I just don’t want to be lonely anymore.
And when you spend all your time awake in
the dark, it seems
as though no one is with you.
There are many others—it’s just a matter of finding
one another, and turning on the light.
Issue 28:
Intro
Acrophobia, Muse
I found quotes the lazy way this month
speechless
extract the music
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