The night has nas become the day. The day the night. My world, like a vampires, starts as the sun sets. Sleeping till three in the afternoon has become a norm. Writing till five in the morning a habit. A habit I don’t want to kick.

People have been dissapearing, like in a movie, vanishing off the face of the earth without a trace, a word, a letter, a kiss, a handshake, a middle finger. Nothing. Sometimes late at night, as I am picking up the chewed buffalo wing bone that “crazy computer lady” threw on the ground minutes after I cleared her plate at Bus Boys and Poets, I wonder if she was real. Like rewinding a movie to hear what the actors said, to see what the director wanted you to see, I have replayed every conversation in my head, dissected every look, every touch, and I have nothing. No idea. Maybe aliens took her, maybe they are harvesting her organs as we speak. The tiny space ship, able to shrink and expand as it pleases, may be flying around my room right now, she may be yelling from the operating table as a weird alf like creature prepares to extract her large intestine to give to his or her kid as a jump rope.

I wait tables into the night, the rain gathers in the rivers and creaks and rises over their respective banks flooding the streets and canals and sewers. Fesces runs wild as I bring people their meatloaf and pineapple mojitos. Is it okay to live most of your life at night? Is that alright? Is that acceptable? I used to think it wasn’t, I used to think that it was a waste of time, that I should be working during the day, making money to spend on the weekend or on life insurance or health insurance, which I admit I do need, and I enjoy writing. It’s funny how sometimes we feel like anything we like to do must just be play. That things we like to do can’t be what we do. It nags at me every day. I read a book that says God is the biggest artist of them all, and that he likes other artists, and that the universe will help you out with your dreams. A lot of really new-agey type stuff you might think, I might have thought, but I think she is right. Who knows.

If you see a tiny space ship flying around tell her to leave me a note sometime. In the meantime, live life in a way that you enjoy and don’t throw buffalo wing bones on the floor.

~ by kevinthomas on June 28, 2006.