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Technically, I am still under the influence.

July 12, 2008

Last night I had a migraine, and so I took a full dose of Nyquil to put me to sleep, as it was the only way to get any relief from the pain. I usually only take a half-dose, because Nyquil affects me pretty strongly.

 

I am now a zombie. I cannot think, I cannot concentrate, I cannot stay awake. So what have I spent my morning doing? Writing poetry. Strange, fragmented, slightly disturbing poetry that is “working” really well for me in my semi-intoxicated state, but which is probably completely incomprehensible to sober human beings.

I’ve been writing a lot recently, even if I haven’t been posting stuff over here. I’m pretty much living on Writers Cafe, and you should check it out.

I promise to put some of the new, crazy stuff over here. Let’s start with just a taste of what I’m up to.

Ode to Nyquil

Yes! I am still here.

 

I am still here, inside . . .
Inside the cone of silence.
Inside the cone of
I-don’t-really-care-if-I’m-not-actually-doing-any-work.
I am still here.
I can still hear.

I am on the other side of this wall,

this glass partition,
this green genie in a child-proof bottle.
I am still here.
I am not child-proof.
I am not proof, child, and I have no idea
what you expect me to prove.
 
I am here, I am there, in a moment I’ll be everywhere,
except that blinking takes too much energy,
and in this state I will watch four hours of an infomercial
about floor steamers. For hours. Four hours!
In this state, I mutter, incoherent.
The nature of infinity, infinite sheep,
infinite sleep.
 
Infinite . . .
. . . sleep.
Come genie. Come! We bask, we speak, we sleep.
We sleep!
I, drinker of the genie, solemnly swear
I solemnly swear –
I will not drive under the influence.
I will not drive you to insanity with my infinite sheep.
 
Infinite sleep.
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