Many nights I sleep on a couch. Many times I don't even bother to convert it to the bed it is designed to become. Just lay a sheet over the top and off the side and sleep on the couch as you would. Sometimes I do convert it, sometimes on those nights when I've had some to drink and I think maybe I will want to toss and turn in the morning when I have a pounding headache. Those nights when under the influence you have the vague notion that you are winning something profound and then the next day you only feel that hazy guilt that clears up in the afternoon sun. Maybe you feel that the sense of winning was all an illusion and maybe a bit silly, and that the day's reality is heavier and harder to bear than before. But the aggregate pleasure received from the whole thing seems to weigh in at a favorable heft. Perhaps that is why I return to it every so often.
Accompanying this vague notion of winning is this dissolution of the ego into the collective human conscious. I personally feel a part of that mass of humanity that I so loathe during the day and it happens to be a pleasant feeling, like reconciling after a quarrel with a loved one.
I contemplate this and many other things when I lay down on my sofa bed. It almost inevitably happens whenever my head hits the pillow and I gaze up into the mini-lanterns that surround my room. They cast the most intriguing shadows with their little mesh casings all over the wine-red walls and I can't help but fall into the deepest contemplation that usually results in a sort of hazy melancholy, usually due to the persistent resignation from general mankind and its current culture.
I never imagined I'd be writing this much this summer. Which means I have too much to think about this summer and that even my vacations will soon cease to be very therapeutic, probably due to work and the running out of money. And then my thoughts turn sourly to money and the institutions built around it and this whole complicated, cumbersome philosophy of living we have constructed for ourselves. And the thought of tomorrow's work sends a less than subtle shudder through my stomach.
I'm pretty sure I was meant to be incarnated as a cat. To lay around and think, "Ah fuck, there is no what is, it just is." Turned out to be a distressing mistake. Full of conflict. Contradictions. All the like.
Maybe it is time for some more goddamn pictures.
