my eyelids are heavy with promises of 8-hour slumber, from a long restless day of daydreaming what remains outside each moment's sphere of consciousness. clouds roll by languidly across the bent horizon, while the rest of the world is entrapped with unrelentless bouts of trivial pursuit. earning more money, spending more money, flexing your muscle across the rat race landscape. for those that have lost touch of who they are, will the freedom of sleep give meaning to their lives?

i haven't been writing as much lately. what bothers me is the lack of introspect that i've managed to muster, and the recurring themes of pimp-my-hamster-wheel and general romanticism with the freedom of living your life doused with music, good photography, and people that you really care about. yet the cogs keep the wheel turning, allowing you to surrender your freedoms as far as you'd define it to be. yet ironically, we all eventually acquiesce to sleep. and what happens... is a mystery. anything you could muster it to be.

perhaps it's no wonder that you close your eyes when you kiss, that you close your eyes to imagine.. that you close your eyes to dream. perhaps none of this is a wonder, after all.

just remember to close your eyes.