What if that’s what all this is, a congregation? And there’s no escaping it, no leaving it? Then just find the voices telling truth and hold on for dear life. Oh, dear!
As a long term committed insomniac, I relate on so many levels. Most nights I don't fall asleep till 4 or 5 am. At least at some point I stop thinking and then these fluid, light shapes start dancing in my scull and I see all sorts of interesting things. Like a Dali painting, melting shapes and faces. Nights are strange. But so are days.
Thank you. Thinking of that Dali painting with the melting clock. He probably never slept! I had this book of Insomnia Poetry that I would read sometime but it felt like too on the nose, but then I found this book of Japanese Death Poems. Sometimes I grab Rilke’s
Yeah, I have discovered why I’m here, or rather you discovered me for reading you. “Let’s get paranoid together, shall we?” This, despite terrifying subject that’s no stranger, feels GOOD to read.
I wait for these columns with the same yearning for sleep I feel upon returning to the warm bed after a 3:00 a.m. piss, when The Mind -- my nocturnal enemy -- performs the worst, most self-sabotaging act possible: it begins to think ... and all is lost.
Another epic post, Jerry, laden with truth, laughs, and heavy sighs. Thanks!
I am sorry you are experiencing insomnia hell but if it generates this kind of brilliant (to say nothing of entertaining) writing, then there is something to be said for it.
I’m having the same problem, and I haven’t had this level of can’t-sleep-world-on-fire insomnia since the end of 1988. Worse, I’ll get to sleep at a normal time, wake up about an hour later just burning up, so I get up without waking either my girlfriend or the cat (a tough order when your cat is a 10-kilo fuzzy tumor who spreads across half the bed in order to warm his feet on my ribs), galumph to the kitchen for water, and alternate between eating spoonfuls of crunchy peanut butter straight from the 4-pound jar and “getting caught up on the news.” Next thing I know, the sun is coming up, the cat is yelling at me because his feet are cold, my girlfriend is checking on me because I’ve eaten three pounds of peanut butter, and only THEN do I feel the urge to sleep. It’s leading to some of the best material I’ve written since 2000, but at what cost, Jerry? AT WHAT COST?
Glad to be of service, kemo sabe. As for Parker having issues with being compared to a tumor, he's heard much worse. I'm fairly certain that he thinks I don't love him if I don't make disparaging remarks to him eight times a day, because he sure as hell makes disparaging remarks to me.
You should hear him after I sing to him. His theme is a rewrite of Primus's "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver," starting with "Paul's got a big brown tumor..."
Gotta agree with you and F. Scott. There are no good thoughts at 3AM unless you're your younger self) and haven't even thought about going home yet.
Have to agree.
Those days are gone(-ish). Though insomnia may be the last - worst - drug of all.
Add a cocktail with depression and you can't beat it.
There’s a saying “You can sleep when you’re dead”
But you can die when you’re asleep, right?
Yes that’s my preference!
We should all be so lucky!
I go into a rant when I wake up every morning!
Great way to start your day —
Hit the ground screaming!
😂 true story
Brother Joe keep going bro great stuff!
Preach, Jerry. Preach!
Thanks for the note.
In truth, if I were the preacher, I would leave the congregation…
What if that’s what all this is, a congregation? And there’s no escaping it, no leaving it? Then just find the voices telling truth and hold on for dear life. Oh, dear!
As a long term committed insomniac, I relate on so many levels. Most nights I don't fall asleep till 4 or 5 am. At least at some point I stop thinking and then these fluid, light shapes start dancing in my scull and I see all sorts of interesting things. Like a Dali painting, melting shapes and faces. Nights are strange. But so are days.
I kind of love the idea of a Dali painting. I think you’re right - in some weird way insomnia makes you creative. Even involuntarily…
Thank you for getting in touch!
Thank you. Thinking of that Dali painting with the melting clock. He probably never slept! I had this book of Insomnia Poetry that I would read sometime but it felt like too on the nose, but then I found this book of Japanese Death Poems. Sometimes I grab Rilke’s
Book of Hours. Or Zen Flesh, Zen Bones.
Yeah, I have discovered why I’m here, or rather you discovered me for reading you. “Let’s get paranoid together, shall we?” This, despite terrifying subject that’s no stranger, feels GOOD to read.
I wait for these columns with the same yearning for sleep I feel upon returning to the warm bed after a 3:00 a.m. piss, when The Mind -- my nocturnal enemy -- performs the worst, most self-sabotaging act possible: it begins to think ... and all is lost.
Another epic post, Jerry, laden with truth, laughs, and heavy sighs. Thanks!
“It begins to think - and all is lost… “ Exactly!
Thank you. Beautifully put.
I am sorry you are experiencing insomnia hell but if it generates this kind of brilliant (to say nothing of entertaining) writing, then there is something to be said for it.
I’m having the same problem, and I haven’t had this level of can’t-sleep-world-on-fire insomnia since the end of 1988. Worse, I’ll get to sleep at a normal time, wake up about an hour later just burning up, so I get up without waking either my girlfriend or the cat (a tough order when your cat is a 10-kilo fuzzy tumor who spreads across half the bed in order to warm his feet on my ribs), galumph to the kitchen for water, and alternate between eating spoonfuls of crunchy peanut butter straight from the 4-pound jar and “getting caught up on the news.” Next thing I know, the sun is coming up, the cat is yelling at me because his feet are cold, my girlfriend is checking on me because I’ve eaten three pounds of peanut butter, and only THEN do I feel the urge to sleep. It’s leading to some of the best material I’ve written since 2000, but at what cost, Jerry? AT WHAT COST?
Oh man, I can relate. Especially the tub o’peanut butter…
I fucking love the description of your cat as a “10 kilo fuzzy tumor” - though I don’t know how your cat feels about it….
On the plus side, sounds like your writing is going well. So hey, it’s all worthwhile!
Really appreciate you getting in touch, man.
Glad to be of service, kemo sabe. As for Parker having issues with being compared to a tumor, he's heard much worse. I'm fairly certain that he thinks I don't love him if I don't make disparaging remarks to him eight times a day, because he sure as hell makes disparaging remarks to me.
Parker sounds like my kind of cat—
You should hear him after I sing to him. His theme is a rewrite of Primus's "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver," starting with "Paul's got a big brown tumor..."