Archive for the ‘Sleep’ Category

Mid-sentence… I always seem to wake.

No wonder I feel dazed, confused,

perpetually half-baked.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Sleep.

Eat.

Sleep.

Shit.

Sleep.

Dream.

Sleep.

Think.

Sleep.

Stretch.

Sleep.

Write.

Perfect life.

Catlike.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

So tired, feeling.

So old, feeling.

So much exploited, dragged through the mud

and left for dead.

I need to sleep.

I *need* to sleep.

But how much life do I have left?

(How much I have missed!)

Can I afford the luxury of dreams?

Can I afford the poverty of dearth?

 

©ddr7hd

 

What Beauty?

At the end of the day,

it’s like,

well, that’s that,

and was there any point?

Frustrated, violated,

implicated, complicated…

Screwed over by people

and inanimate objects,

screwed over by societal

and weather systems,

screwed over by life, death,

revolution and resolution,

screwed over by everything,

so it seems,

night and day,

no end.

Catch your breath, if you can,

before it is gone forever.

Sigh.

Yawn.

Scorn.

Wishing others unborn.

Disenchanted,

the giant seeks solace in sleep.

©ddr7hd

 

Condoleezza Rice followed me

as I walked through Foggy Bottom.

Smart woman,

she knows something.

I am a sleeping giant…

Let me lie.

Let me dream.

When I’m ready,

I will rise.

Ipso facto,

leave me be…

let me deal,

let me rest,

let me heal.

 

I woke up and found myself outside of the Mir,

it was unpleasant,

it quickly became a way of life,

*sigh*.

Village, community, commune, collective, safety, peace, the whole world as I knew it,

GONE…

Imagine being excluded!

With no hope of returning to something which probably never truly existed (except in our collective imaginations) …

Imagine.

“What is ‘truly’?” I asked myself, from my new (every morning) perspective.

Indeed,

I prefer sleep.

 

Define dream.

Define reality.

Somewhere in New York City,

on a TV set,

in a room,

a state of mind,

beyond Brighton Beach…

Somewhere,

sometime,

a grandiose statement was made

about destiny shaking hands with history.

… Really?

Like, wow!

And, how…

And, this production was brought to you by the ghosts of Leni Riefenstahl and Rosa Luxemburg.

Read, kids, read, believe and intercede!

 

I struggle through the days,

to get to the nights,

so that I can drink beer,

get naked,

get… well, I’m always introspective,

and justifiably sleep.

Desperate attempt to find

detached,

numb bliss.

Such is life these days,

for as long as I remember,

I need to escape the bondage of society.

Goodnight.

It is time, as they say in the classics,

to let my girls go free.

 

I open my wallet and remember,

something personal.

Past,

history,

the me that was

and is

in memory

and actuality.

I liked the money with Karol Świerczewski on it.

It meant something to me.

The 50 złoty note, a historical bookmark most would prefer forgotten, a pan-Slavist idealistic remnant of the people’s republic, overcome by hopes and hopelessness, the European nightmare, democracy, capitalism, perceptions of freedom and the kind of work ethic that sends you to another country. Sigh. Yes, I prefer memory and sleep.

 

Life, I turn one way.

And then I turn another.

Sigh, I prefer sleep.