(tap the cold transmission)

My brain is a tear in the safety net, waiting patiently for the next man to come and greet his death.

Why the fuck do i keep on with these things? this understated insomnia? this cashless cow slow killing me? when i know that there comes a certain point in the night when there's just nothing left to see. there's not a goddamn thing to learn and there sure as shit isn't a reason to sit here half-assed and tired looking for a word to fall just right from somewhere long since asleep to these waxy fingertips.

Its just gets too late.

The body yields. the mind goes with. and there's nothing i can face that will change the simple fact that like it or not i am a human being and could use with a little something like rest when there's so much of me at stake in these next thirty fucking days (if that by now).

Its the wandering, i guess.

I don't get enough of it in the real world of sun and days. i have to sit there collecting information that won't mean a damn to the world in the end when i should be buying a nice new pair of shoes and seeing how far i can stumble before i run out of earth and cigarettes.

So i wait until my life abates and every aspect of hope is in bed and i let my head go slack and follow the rat-a-tap-tap-tap until i just can't stand the sight of these keys anymore.

But is that enough to settle that? or do i look forward to another evening of nicoteine stains and the chance that something beautiful will rain out of me and into the right place and time?

I should count on the latter, i imagine.

Fucking fickle thing.