Fear Of Sleep

Alright, it's three o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep, and I'm wearing the headphones, and the headphones are plugged into my computer, and there isn't any music playing. I'm just going to sit here and wear the headphones. If there's a better time to write, you tell me when it is. If you can describe to me a better physical and environmental situation, well, we'll really have something going here.

I've been trying to start this play, that story, etc etc, and I'm telling you, I can't write anything. I can't write anything, and I can't sleep. I don't have a single good idea floating around in my head. I'm not making connections. I think it has something to do with the fact that I'm dividing my reading time between Edmund Spenser, Anton Chekov, Oscar Wilde, Franz Kafka, and William S Burroughs.

So I'm thinking of starting something called "THE COSMIC ADVENTURES OF LUNCHBOX AND OTTOMAN: A ONE ACT PLAY OF SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS IN SPACE."

Big in Japan. I can feel it.

But how can I dig myself out of this rut? I've been trying these Vitamin C tablets, but they haven't been helping much. (NB: I probably should have bronchitis, seeing as I've been exposed to a lot of it, I never sleep, and I happen to live in a dorm, but the Vitamin C has been saving me.)

This has gone absurd enough. I'm going to listen to Sunset Rubdown, and I suggest that you all do the same.

If I sleep at all I'd better have some Michel Gondry dreams.