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epistle log 30irty 6ix
nocturne for the will
fighting bouts with low-grade narcolepsy and the ever persuasive morpheus. the last of the caffeine went to the front lines hours ago, crushed by the gravitation of eyelids. fighting for consciousness and my steps fall short, i trip and stumble all over my own words, brain over-active in some desperate state of exhaustion, but my body cannot keep up. one more class, and thai for four tonight, and then i take sabbatical for 12 hours, doing nothing productive, maybe sitting here blinking the input of infinite binary zeroes and ones, eyes losing focus and fingers guided by a precision far beyond my shot nerves and over-amped synapses.
walking down the academic mall the sun is the perfect muted brilliance and the terse wind pulls my eyes open a bit more, and a refrain enters my mind, becoming anthem and anathema for the ensuing weeks. i become a conduit for sale and in my mind i'm back at bogart's hearing bob nasty scream with his whole body "i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try" over and over again, filling the vacuous spaces slowly opening up in me, and in my mind i'm jumping like mad, screaming with him, pumping my fists, screaming this anthem and almost trampling johnny's lady friend. before each chorus my body tenses, coiling inside itself, waiting for the release and then the lights go and he jumps into it jumps into me and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try and i'll try . . .
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