Apostrophic Chunder

Flipping the pages, the channels, turning over and over. Tired eyes, sore muscles, and racing thoughts. Staring at it. Watching it stare back at me. Hating it. Watching the clock bleed its minutes and hours away. Listening to heat pumps turn off and on up and down the row. Listening to birds come and go. The pressure of the atmosphere crushing down upon us in the tiny bedroom under a billion stars. The darkness between the stars stretching and stretching, eating up the light and reflecting nothing. Outside slugs are eating the flowers we just planted. I want to go out and sit in the half darkness and pour salt on each one. I turn on the ceiling fan to drown out the noise and push a fake mechanical breeze across the bed. I push off the covers, and put them back on. Commercials, international business news, infomercials, and the last of the last late late talk shows burn out their last remaining third and fourth hand supporting actors and actresses. Networks go dark, midnight snacks all consumed. Every last late night owl in suburbia is probably dead to the world at this point. My eyes are wide open and it's almost time to get up. If I go to sleep now I can get a power nap in before work...

on reading to gain perspective...

 how we got here
  where we're going
   and the exponential nature of human change

always loved that car analogy
 through the windshield is the future
  in the rear view mirror is the past

(but the passenger compartment is all that's real)

perpetually two steps behind the knee
 of the learning curve

from singularity to singularity
 circumnavigate time space 

my reading chair, also a time machine
 my lamp, a torch 
  my basement, a cave

although behavioral conditioning has
 somewhat discouraged any drawing on the walls
 
... off to find a sandwich.