Blub blub

I lay in bed, sleepless. I can see stars over my head out the window, and sense them behind me down through the other side of the earth's deep rumbling belly. I can breathe in deep and imagine the earth forever turning round and round, tumbling with this galaxy at like 100,000 miles an hour. My upright ape existence on this screaming metal death trap will amount to about 30% sleeping, 30% managing my body, 30% navel-gazing, and that last precious arbitrary 10% doing fuck knows what. 

I find myself alive somewhere in the middle of history, with an ultra convoluted past/present and a sense that anything I make in the future will be naught but something to pass my short, simple time. I'll be just one more life to add to our confused, squirming, semi-conscious biomass, and without ever being able to return all of the immeasurable grace I've witnessed and been given.

My borrowed knowledge will be lost, never spoken today, and scrubbed by tomorrow's narratives. What survives of me will be mere whispers of someone who may have existed, whom most people will never know a thing about. I am fated to spectate from a castle crumbling in tidal sands, washed up over and over on a shore of this cosmic ocean until my light expires. All while chilling with and looking after all the rest I've met on their way to a similar fate.

And I think to myself, "lol dickbutt."