third gear, no breaks.

Everything in the last fortnight, every bloody thing, has failed to happen on time or at all. The days are at their shortest and darkest, not like days at all and on the other hand my sleep is also as minimal and troubled as it gets, not like dreaming at all. Again it's surprising how phisiologically easy it is to get to tears because there's too much work - of the work I love - and I am unsifficient, out of sheer tiredness, out of nothing, out of too much tea, out of the freezing wind's crawl down my neck. Because of not being able to get back in synch with the universe's ratchet wheels, I thought lately life was going slowly. I thought I'd been growing weak and stupid. Even fucking Castle hill has become impossibly steep. Maybe I shouldn't be living on it.

then in a four-am-revelation moment I realised - my bike has been in third gear all along and the breaks don't work.
/insert obvious hamster wheel metaphor./

earlier also it was a beautiful moonlit night for roof-walking and we luckily avoided some porter, straggling around with a torch.

/но ето че слънце
мирише от мен/
/искам чай вместо лед/

earlier yet, i had a lovely night at anna's happy house where there is dahl, hugs, freegan chocolate and jokes about noam chomsky. then when the meal was over and the wine was drunk, the glasses and chopsticks became music.
/покажи ми
образцовия си дом
прочети ме/
i can't explain why i find calm as soon as i sit on the floor there. as if the house were a cup of camomile tea and i could sit at the bottom of it and watch the stamens and leaves float around in warmth. i managed an evening of almost non-cynical internal monologue, which hadn't happened for a long time in anybody else's company.

i'm not going to fix the breaks or take a break. it's too much fun cycling down the hill thinking децата нямат спирачки. might change gear.

now work and more work.
currently reading about protestant islam.
restlessly tapping to vania shtereva.