/lit/ - Literature

Have you heard the one about the sun and the sleeping god? As if you’d fucking understand.

Anyway. At the end of the longest night that live comedy had ever seen, Leto called, “Rise and shine, son!” And so he did.

Heh.

I slept until the poisonous sun went down, skipped my shift, and dreamed I went to sea and never was found. It’s chilly out here, and damp, and November in San Diego. The sky is a beautiful gradient of deep horizon yellows to blues, to drowned, back to sleep. I love the emptiness of this time, the dusky nowhen between two worlds. Empty, despite evening traffic white noising just a few blocks away. Empty, despite an unseen somebody approaching on the sidewalk up ahead. Empty, despite myself.
>and then get more schizoid