Monday, August 28, 2006

cOLD fUSION*

I have forgotten how to sleep, or have lost the will to, the difference, I fear, seems negligible. I close my eyes and a barrage of images, some sparkling, others flashing, invade the darkness, and no matter what I do, they seep in through the portal of my thoughts. Cold fusion, a quantum mishap, too much on my mind, perhaps, or too little, the difference, I fear, seems negligible. I will try reading, perhaps, to help ease the transition to unconsciousness, perhaps Julio Cortazar or a poem or two. Or I will turn on the radio or whack my forehead against the wall. I suppose consciousness isn’t such a bad thing, as far as self-consciousness goes. It’s getting colder now in the evenings, a talisman of extra blankets, pyjamas and flannel sheets.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz