Rumble Fish

Why Do We Sleep?

Late night

“3 a.m. again. The wind is making my window pane knock capriciously against its antique wooden frame while cars drive by at a sullen speed down the littered streets outside. The sound of the wind reminds me of a train whistle blown by an asthmatic child, quietly exhaling a deep breath whose shallow timbre is forgotten as the persistent sweep of a shopping cart passes by. The rattling shades protect me and keep me hidden in deep shadows. In my room the privacy I share with no one else takes primacy over the precarious location by which I’ve attempted to create a new sense of hospitality and warmth. It’s unusually quiet tonight. As of late, my memory has jogged itself short of crossing any finish line, constantly reminding myself of thoughts and memories I’d wished to expel some time ago. Pride and hubris. Why do the giants of my memory pervade so tremendously through my mind when I’d believed for so long that these titans had been swept, like Chronos, away by the new Olympians of time? Does repression ever successfully turn harmful thoughts into scraps for the dogs? (A more ghastly breath pushes against my windowsill) Although I think it does for most, it does not for me. Reflection reveals the calloused handprint of memory.”

I just spent several days working on a new prose that I was very proud of and I accidentally deleted it from Tumblr. I can’t find it anywhere. I am going to scream in my pillow for the next 15 seconds.