Photo Credit: haveweallgotthebends. CC-BY-ND.
Photo Credit: haveweallgotthebends. CC-BY-ND.

I get out of bed. Dress. Measured movements. One foot in front – lose balance – other foot in front. This morning’s itinerary starts at the bathroom.

Light on.

Look at the mirror. Black eyes. No wonder.

I haven’t slept in two months.

Last night i was watching a documentary. This time it was about a community trying to salvage whatever remained of the nature’s bounty that supplies their living. A multinational corporation trying to destroy a forest in order to extract gold from the earth. The state is complacent, not listening to their voice. When sleep eludes you, anything will work as a distraction.

Rinse, spit.

I report for work, trying to sound eager. Haven’t even had coffee yet, or any other drug. I got up too late to play chemist with my system.

Read stuff. Type stuff. Occasionally, the odd notification pops up on my desktop. The world trying to distract me, talking about wars, torture, the loss of privacy, the consumption of individual life. Mostly it’s about numbers, the suffering to much to talk about names any more. 72 hours ceasefire to collect thousands of dead, millions of people marked as terrorists without due process.

Some characters in my screen don’t make sense. Need to focus.

Caffeine. It needs to work. I’ll make it work.

Type some more.

This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time. How is a person supposed to deal with that? Have you seen that picture – a bomb diving into a house, frozen in the sky by the photographer, people covering their ears? Is their life ending one minute at a time?

They didn’t even have time to think that. Their life is ending one meter at a time.

Must eat, sugar may help to make sense of this damn mess in my editor.

There is this guy in my neighborhood, talks to himself. He is insane, no doubt. When you talk to yourself, you are at worse eccentric. When yourself interrupts you, you are probably schizophrenic. He gets interrupted a lot.

Whom am i talking to now, then? I type, i stop, i go back and edit. Looks better.

Writing is a form of insanity.

Everyone, when they are small, want to change the world. I did too. I look at the news, or what passes for news these days anyway. Still the same as this morning. We are not doing a very good job.

More dead, and this time people cheering over their bodies.

I probably won’t be sleeping tonight.

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