Sleep is for Lovers

Sleep is overrated. So is love. Love is trouble. Love is cruelty. Love is pain.

Love is like cancer. It doesn't stop growing until it kills you. Not that I'm complaining.

I'm trying a new thing. It's supposed to be cathartic. My own personal Europa.

As a writer, I'm supposed to be the one creating and manipulating through words and images, yet these words seem to have more control over me than I do over them.

By the way, Europa exists only in my head. It's this idealistic vision of the way my life would be if I left school and moved to Europe, at least for a little while anyway. Maybe it's all just fleeting. 

Joey says life is meaningless. Maybe, but we're all human (or are we dancer?). So I search for meaning amidst the emptiness, unlike Camus over there. Because without hope, I have nothing. Maybe I have nothing anyway. 

A tree fell in a forest. There was no one there to hear it. It made a loud fucking sound.

Maybe now I can go to sleep.

~Mike

P.S. I promise you that the next post will be funny and lighthearted...and maybe a little irreverent. SPOILER ALERT!!! There will be midgets and breasts and maybe a little drug use. Dammit, that sounds like the plot of In Bruges. Originality, too, is overrated.