Driving on 9

Trip to fam. Come on ye conspiracy seekers! Trip To Fam!!!! tryptophan? Who in there right mind hasnt laughed out loud at LEVITRA and yet we willingly gobble up (ouch) tryptophan. We just get bored with “home for the holidays”. Perhaps Im wrong. Maybe there is some sleep protein deep with in that stupid bird. If there is they(the man and his helpers) are currently seeding the air with it in NYC. Everyone is on an extended left over nap. Wake up! Stop eating that damnable cranberry shit. I know what its like. I have been there. I understand the inertial loss yesterdays food can present. Its an experiment in relative time. Thursday we ate all day and did little else. The food is infected with that carpe somnus spice god has put inside turkey. Chronotope? Thats my new word this week. I got all schooled about it over a bottle of Jaeger. Chronotope. Its the sense of time and space. Generally its historical. The sense of time and space in ancient roman society for example. But I think your left over turkey is some post modern signifier of the family holiday chronotope. You are put into that mode of small table. Its not christmas when you were gifted. Its that one with the little chairs and the aunt who you dont know and that damned thing of potatoes. It is interminably long. It is before you realise the delicateness of other people. Of yourself. It is that time when you are arrogant enough not to appriciate those around you. I cant say I had that holiday this year. It was lovely. Pleanty of wonderful people about. Friends family wine. But the next day turkey still holds that goddamn sonambulic chronotope of do nothing. Nothing. Got over it. Get out. And call my ass before I try to eat any more of it.

No matter what you do - do not think about a pink elephant. Pain is this funny thing. The brain is not very good at remembering the specifics of it. Im not sure why. Its hard to remember the physical sensation of a bone breaking or a drill cutting at your finger instead of driving a screw. People who go through extreme physical trauma often have no memory of the time surrounding the trauma. I think the brain has a similar response to emotional pain, loss. It isn’t as hard wired but with time it works out paths around pain. Ways to remember with out hurt. It is far from perfect. For instance things could be going about the way they do, and you could stumble across the profile of your recently departed friend, and it could hurt still. For instance.
And while you were thinking about that you could remember a time when someone you loved was still who she was. And you might wonder why she lost more then just a little time.
And you might just find yourself wondering why these things happen. And you know there isnt much of a why. And then maybe you could look at both things and wonder where the common ground is.
It funny, I suppose the person I would most likely ask about her situation would have been him. I talked to him about it some but this morning seeing his profile I really wish I could call him and ask him how this sort of thing happens. How can you lose someone who is still here? But I can’t do that.

It is well known amongst my friends and family that I have some strange and sometime irritating sleeping habits. I talk in my sleep, I run over lines in my sleep, I have conversations with people near by in my sleep, I make up songs in my sleep and I sing them. I have yet to find another person with that particular sleep habit. I don’t imagine it to be unique I just have yet to find someone with that same quirk.
Generally I am dissappointed that I don’t benefit consiously from this songwriting. A few month ago, however, I woke myself up singing as loudly as I could. My voice was lower then it has ever been, almost possessed. It had that low vibratto that I associate with Tuval singing and over and over I was chanting “You’re going to die, You’re Going to die”. I wasn’t scared. I was a little concerned for my own sanity but mostly I thought it was pretty damned funny.
This morning I woke myself up singing again. This time no tuval throat singing. This morning it was Leonard Cohen, Chelsea Hotel. “I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel, you were famous your heart was a legend.” It wasn’t my voice. It was higher, lighter, slightly more in the nose. I liked it.
I liked the voice of death from some months before. I wonder what one is my voice. Is the voice I use everyday just a construct that fits in well with who I want to think I am?
Oh and does anyone have a voice activated recorder because I can’t seem to write enough when I am awake and I could use some help from myself.