LIFE & TIMES OF AN INSOMANIAC

what am i doing?
I often ask myself that. What the fuck am I doing up at this time of the hour, doing nothing.
There - I think I have just answered my own question....
I am doing utterly nothing.

Here I am again, right at the butt-crack of dawn with a cigarette in my hand, its toxic fumes bellowing out of my mouth looking down upon the makeshift pedestal that is the patio of my house. This night seems to be different from the others as I find myself filling my stomach with some strawberry yogurt, frozen, for it is the only way to eat these health oriented - as marketed things. Its just food really, but its what the consumers think it to be that matters, right? Nothing really matters - but this serene environment I am currently in.


So here I am, scanning my eyes from left to right, you see the occasional bus trudging along, its engine a low yet buzzing hum and its brakes hissing like a thousand pit vipers. You see some occasional joggers too, in their black hoodies, huffing and puffing. At least they look like joggers to me, I stare them down anyway from this elevated spot I am in, what the heck, I might as well leave an impression. Maybe it was a robber, or whatever it is they are - maybe I have discouraged them from doing said deed.
That's right motherfucker - keep jogging

Hah - delusions of grandeur? nah just wishful thinking.
Me
Silent Observer
Defender of Justice
Yogurt-eating health nut
Cancer candidate
Insomniac exemplified

Im just really trying to fill my head with thoughts as I once again drown in sleeplessness. I dont even know why I feel compelled to write this nonsense that occupy my thoughts, they are really just ramblings of a man devoid of sleep. Eh.

If anything, its a good way to feel inspired - especially when inspiration becomes an elusive yet enigmatic escape artist.

fuck inspiration.
haha, what am I saying? I live and breathe for inspiration.
But no, really... fuck inspiration.

And since where in the topic of "fucking", fuck blogs as well.
I hate such things which proliferate meandering nothings hiding behind words - a mere attempt at literature.
Yet it fails.

Just like I fail at sleep. This insomniac lifestyle of mine.