I take another swig from my beer. Dulls the senses and slows my writing down.
It’s unreadable if I keep going as fast as I want to put down the flood of words and thoughts and feelings and scenes down on the digital equivalent of paper.
This jamble of words tries to form sentences, just to end up in a horrible mess unless I reign them in. Herd them into an acceptable row.
I had to quit working. It just wasn’t working out anymore, if you excuse the pun. I am a night man. Not a daywalker. When the sun comes up, I feel the need to sleep. The night excites me. Darkness. Quiet. Just the stars and moon outside. Empty roads lit by an occasional streetlight. It inspires. Having to wake up early in the morning slowly murdered me.
I need to scream in silence. Grab what squirms inside me and tear it out of my chest in a bloody mess for anyone who wants to see. Its high pitched screams of agony pierce my ears until I put it to rest between pages.
I can’t control what I need to write. It just comes up to me, shoving itself into my face, invading my thoughts and dreams, forcing me to express things a sane person would not understand.
I finish my beer and pop open another one. Bittersweet comfort.
A new thought comes to my slighty foggy mind. I haven’t even finished the last one.
It’s going to be a long night.