Eating pizza with my wife. Riding a bike when I was little. Riding a bike when I was young. Riding a bike now. Swimming in the cold white sea when the seagulls hover over me. A cabin in the woods, not sure if I was ever there, or saw it in a movie. That guy at the cafe who was rude and I did not stand up for myself. In my thoughts, I am brave and he submits. I replay the scene until it makes me feel like a loser and I know if I keep doing it, it will haunt me forever, so I distract myself.
A theatrical mask lying on a wooden table, an old, old table. I am tired of doing things with my thoughts, I force myself to imagine myself sleeping. I am sleeping on the floor, at the girl’s apartment, that one time when I got all the way to LA just to be turned down and then graciously given shelter for the night. I wish I was a lobster. Lobsters have good lives. Honest and true.
A swirl of scenes I do not know the source of. People in trenchcoats running down the subway station, a library in New York, somebody giving me a cup of water with orange leaves sticking out, a rock concert started too early (9 am) and nobody came, a lion taught himself to write HTML pages and sold his startup for millions.
Movement wakes me. Did my wife stir next to me? No, she has been gone for years. Now I remember. Now I will not sleep.