I'm going to be dreaming of a lighthouse

It's the time of night, well morning, well actually it's the time that starts you thinking. 4:48 am that pecuiliar time of the day when your brain starts to think different. It starts with the first question: "do I think it's extremely late in the night?" or "Do I think it's extremely early in morning?" Once I have gotten past this (I usually decide it is just beyond late in the night time) I start realising how I feel and what I am thinking.

4:48 am feels like 8 hours of anime, it felt like utter shock when encountering others still up and bumping into the night. For a brief moment it gave me a weird sense of peace, tranquility and a fleeting glimpses of a clear mind. The joy of open space even out in the street. I really started to dig the night when it felt like rebellion, breaking the daytime convention and blazing a new trail lit by the gentle glow of the moon. Bathed in pale light on an empty street I can feel alive, I can dance as much as I fucking want and not get strange looks. I hate the squares who can't losen up enough to fully enjoy their music. Don't be afraid to rock out with your music; if you like it so much dance, groove and be into it. I'd rather get lost in something I love than listen to the white noise of the city. If your music doesn't make you want to dance then you're listening to the wrong song.

4:48 am can also feel like being alone, it felt bitterly cold even with a hood on and the temperature barely reaching fall levels. For some agonizingly long minutes it can offer only the dull throb of heart ache, followed by the sudden surge of panic and the nagging voice of sleep. It makes you question your life, your intentions and how it is that you found yourself on the corner of your street looking for the moon hidden in the clouds. Last night I was also up at 4:48 am and I promised I wouldn't be again and here I am now promising tommorrow will be different.

My bed calls to me but my fingers are dying to dance the keys, swaying to the music of my thoughts. I wanted to create on a piano keyboard but found my songs sounded better on the computer keys. My melodies of music paled in comparison to the rythm of my thoughts. Click-a-ty Clak-a-ty the keys go. Blow as deep as you want, words are like notes...scatter them...pause them, do a furiously paced ever climbing tediouly intense string of words that climb into the obscurities of metaphor and come rushing back to the page like a wave crashing the shore. Wait as the wave swells...builds up for the penultimate crash the point where you realise you can't keep up this pace you begin to ease off as your waves die down...you got through the big crash. You let the words go free. Step back from the microphone, that solo is done.


Sleep is the antithesis of my inspiration. I was there tongiht, I felt alive. I had thoughts flowing and ideas building. I was diggin life, watching sexy thoughts cut by my mind's eye.


5:48 am is the fog of sleep...so many things I want to say. I'm going to be dreaming of a light house, a way to keep my thoughts from crashing into the shoreline of sleep.

It is one hour later and I am collapsed in the act of just being here.

Goodnight moon, please light up the shore for me next time.