A Restless Night.

This has been one of those nights where I've wanted to have things to do but didn't want to find anything to do. I could have read but I wasn't able to read. I was just browsing the internet, wasting time, thinking about a hundred different things.


I even turned the light off and tried to go to bed. But then scumbag brain got me:

My thoughts went into spazz mode as soon as I tried to go to sleep.

So now I've gotten out of bed and I've got some tea and I thought I would write a bit.

I have been thinking about Rilke lately. About his love and fear of solitude, about how all those ideas on solitude relate to his ideas about love.

For some reason poetry is the most appealing thing to me right now.

Using words in weird ways.

Experimenting with them.

I don't write poetry well. But I sure do love writing the poems I write. They just make me feel really good.

Extended clear thinking feels like such a difficulty right now. I feel very distractible. More than ever. Poetry is good because its fast. It doesn't take a long time to read. I write them very quickly.

I don't have anything to say right now.

I just can't sleep because my mind is too active.