2 am. favorite time for solace. or mind racing. vroom vroom.
can you tell me the colour of your father's 1968 porsche while at the same time retracing the pattern of the laura ashley wallpaper in your dollhouse apartment in 1987, reciting all the names of all the men you ever slept with and wondering if any of them still have hair or turned into normal husbands like yours who's wife is currently out and about with every fantasy in her alternative universe remaking the future in it's most minute detail and yet carefully preserving every element of the present from harm in any way shape or form. which is, of course, impossible.
cat's talking in his sleep.
butterfly in for the night is beating it's wings against the kitchen spots.
valerian is slowly taking hold.
cough is not letting up.
i still see pixels in the dark and little green pings of electric light as i lie awake but the diamonds and hearts and clovers from when i was little don't seem to be anywhere close by. i used to watch them for hours
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