Who needs sleep?
Epic show tonight in Cleveland. I'm so high from it that I feel like I'm riding a motorcycle in a mini mart with energy drinks running through my veins like olympic sprinters in search of wayward gold medals from days of yore. The hostage Olympics with special forces and handcuffs and bullets whizzing by. Man, I don't know what it is about Cleveland but I've had some great times here. I'm going to ride a motorcycle though the window of a convenience store and rob them for every energy drink they have and all of their bananas. Then I'm going to paint my body red and catapult myself through the clouds and land in a lush green field full of daisies and unicorns and rainbows. It's so pleasant to extend my legs across this bed and rest my head on the same pillow that many other drifters have slept upon and take on their thoughts and darkest dreams and float on a sea of ether. Hardwood floors and suitcases and hotel stationary. Flippant glances from hotel clerks and I'm slowly deciphering it all as I really start to fall into the deepest of slumbers. The energy drinks are now fading like a vintage pair of Levis and I'm almost out for the count. 1--2--3 Goodnight sweet friends. I love you. But love is scary. It reminds me of an anonymous poem I once read:
Tis a Fearful Thing
It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.
A fearful thing to love, hope, dream:
to be, And! to lose.
A thing for fools, this,
and a holy thing,
a holy thing to love.
For your life has lived in me, your laugh once lifted me, your word was gift to me.
To remember this brings painful joy.
'Tis a human thing, love, a holy thing, to love what death has touched.