Oceans of letters and words
2009-10-28, 1:42 a.m.

When the house is quiet in the early morning hours or very late at night, you can hear everyone in the neighborhood chasing their impossible dreams and their private paradises, just to escape this greyness and suffering for one moment. Sometimes they just give up and shuffle to the dope dealer's house in sweatpants and slippers at 5 am, slowly, trying to walk in the gaps of the matrix. I saw this woman and she saw me. Then I closed the shades. I watered the bonsai and flicked water at its impenetrable green boughed fortress.

Sometimes right before I go to sleep I feel what Freud describes as the "oceanic feeling" and I think that I am understanding something bigger than myself, but then the understanding disappears and I realize I don't know anything.

The more that I type, the bigger the white ocean of pages and words, until I find myself floating away beyond the importance of the wall.