Saturday.
2:42 am.
Cohen:
Silence / and a deeper silence / when the crickets hesitate.
Montgomery:
With clanking chains. It must not be: this day, this hour.
Plath:
Alone, deepening.
Kafka:
What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.
Duras:
My thoughts wear me out.
Prince:
Purple Rain.
Shakespeare:
O sleep, O gentle sleep / Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee / That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down / And steep my sense in forgetfulness?
Humphrey:
(Sleep) A proven capacity for endless resurrection out of nothing.
Give me sleep.
Give me resurrection.
Now.
Photo: Arturs Kondrats Photography via poly-gr