Not much to say today: Played tennis in the rain. Got nominated for best lead actor in a short film at a film festival in Georgia (http://fright-fest.com/main.php) – that’s good for a chuckle.
I guess so as not to break the tradition of dull entries – I’ll repeat the poem I wrote somewhere else online:
I woke up an hour ago. But only parts of me. Something’s still sleeping in the back of my head. It’s been sleeping for years. I can feel it twitching, roiling; kicking like a drunk fetus in a new mother’s womb. I give it nothing, but it pulls me back to snug dream at every chance – when I let my guard down; when I let slip the cold lucid mask of civility and etiquette. It whispers deja vu in some strange tongue that seems familiar, but which I cannot place. It skitters away. It hides in my blind spot. The more the clumsy fingertips of my consciousness grope through cobwebbed corners, the more it dances outside my field of perception.
Perhaps one day I will find it awake in my hands, because my hands are finally doing nothing else.