everyone is sleeping but me like it’s bukowski drinking it’s everyone except me. night is for tea. a sadness stacked up before you, leaflets folded out. bed time is here. I will make sure to write later. this time is killing me. and pain in my knee. below my knee. what’s free is free, falls apart bought into, pulled, gained, gathered, geared towards market trends. ghost voice follows me around this corner. our arguments with one another end when I reply – nothing else can be done. don’t you know the basic laws of physics still apply? I’ll bend some reality when I want. I want to go for the kindest way. when I was driving to the co-op yesterday, there was this glimmer of hope that suddenly sparked up in me. I was imagining what it would be like to have more free time, or even to move about exactly as I pleased. cars, no matter what kind even, are too bulky. and I see too much drama going on, I’m telling you. I think I hate it most when people admit it: “I’m a drama queen…” or “what’s the latest gossip, I can’t live without the gossip.” and when people admit that they’re being assholes. wanting the kindest way, yet saying I wish for these people to fall into bear traps, has me vexed.