As sleep eluded me once again, I found myself pacing an unfamiliar house, as though in search of something--though rather than searching I merely walked the same path many times, hoping something new would come along. I was seized by a fit of some morbid version of inspiration, seized a pen, and looked for the nearest scrap of paper on which I felt I could safely write.
The only thing available was a box of sprite. I ripped off a corner and began to scrawl my dark thoughts, pondering on death, on darkness, on shadow, on cold. My words twisted down labyrinthine passages, barely linked, making little sense unless perhaps viewed from above. As I ran out of space I wrote along a margin that my pen had formed: i wrote this on a scrap of a box of sprite. my despair is lemon-lime, carbonated, CAFFEINE FREE.
I hid the scrap in my pocket lest someone find it and read it. I was afraid of their reaction, but I wasn't sure if I was afraid they would think I was serious or joking.
20060729
caffeine free
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4 comments:
Would it be horribly self-gratifying to scan the etchings on the box of Sprite into your blog?
I hope not. I feel partial to dark thoughts this morning. Especially ones that are caffeine-free and do not make me shake.
Uploaded. They aren't very profound but at least my handwriting is fun to look at.
I wonder who cut the thread?
I think you should be thankful for whoever did.
Could have been me. It definitely makes for an interesting trip.
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