‘free’-writing, whatever that means.

hot, so hot

its 4 56 in the evening. im in bed, lying down. the fan rotates ever so slowly. it’s much better than having no fan, but much worse  than it can be. just like life. so confusing, like it always has been, this life.

i breathe and think about stuff. not thinking because i want to think, but thinking because i have nothing else to do. before you tell me i can sleep, i just got up. you could take a picture of me now and call it the modern day “thinking man”. just that people wouldnt think too much of it.

all kinds of work i have to do stare at me. notes lying around to study for the test tomorrow, blah blah blah. but i lie down and procrastinate.

its apt that procrastinate is such a long word, putting off the end of the sentence, putting off the the utterance of the next word. it puts it off by too small an amount, you say? how long is it really when i procrastinate for 3 hours in my life?

i muse about something. i muse about nothing. i muse about musing. bad jokes fly in my head. a thinking dog = a-musing dog

yawn, i stretch. i just killed another 15 minutes. just like pain-killers, there should be time-killers. you know – time killers that allow you to skip time without aging. now, that would be awesome.

i can see the next block lying on my bed, through my balcony semi-french windows. it’s like a bloody prison. hall-block-wing-room number-id. fuck, they even take a mugshot of you when you get in. no, dont laugh. its not a physical jail. it’s the prison of the mind that i talk about. think about it.

anyway, through the window. the mirror crack’d from side to side. through the glass darkly. both apt for just now. and it’s a depressing sight. no life in what i see.

i look at my watch, half an hour gone. another inconsequential half an hour, spent by an inconsequential organism in a utterly absurd-fucking universe.

ok, im hungry. will go have lunch.