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.:Sunday, September 11, 2005:.
I've been away for a while...
I've been keeping the words to myself. Like pagan poetry and bad journalism.
I can't sleep and I regard the moon for it.
La lune regarde aucume racune.

Faithless, Fearless, Sleepless.

...experiencing or accompanied by sleeplessness; "insomniac old people";
"insomniac nights"; "lay sleepless all night"; "Twenty watchfull, weary, tedious
nights"- Shakespeare.

This is insommiac.
I am Lo's complete lack of fear, or sleep?
and while you sleep, you try to keep the beast in my nature under careless attack.

While you sleep your soul ascends her way to heaven and mine struggles her role in earth.
My soul struggles, awakes, observes. Proceeds to weep.
Moi, mon âme et ma conscience.
While you sleep I search for the light.
Yes, I write in candle light but I'm not asleep nor even awake.
I count my time in coffee spoons and my nights in whispers of immortality.

While you sleep a hundred rendezvous take place.
A million pink pseudo-bunnys count to three
A thousand different couples fall in love
and I whisper lunar incantantios through the spaces of your musical memory.

are you falling? asleep?
am I falling? in love?

"everything is just a copy of a copy of a copy"

Planos sobre planos sobre planos.
A one night stand multiplied by infinitive rhapsodies.
Insomnia, tea and cigarrettes.
I only smoke cigarrettes when I need to and drink tea among some talk of my beloved ones.
I confess, I burnt a hole in the mattress
and while you slept, a frightening cataclysm was unleashed.
Yes, yes. It was me. I plead guilty. I like it. I like you reading me, dreaming me.
Now I just pray to an indifferent God and survive between daydream martinis. (Lemon vodka, triple sec, jus d'orange & 1/4 tlbspn fine sugar)
That's all I have to offer, daydream martinis and the pleasure to share and trade them into dreams about making mad love on the head... while you sleep.

This insomniac starts, awakes, observes.
Remembers the skin and wishes to see you all again 'cause is only in our dreams where disillusionment is a stranger.

Love/hate sensation of this sleepless cynical rondo.
Where thousand sordid images constitute my soul
A hundred changes of state get into their climax and let me take the air in a tobacco trance
and a million tones of a guitar play melodies and lullabies in order to keep me awake.

All of this while it's noon in the west and late in the east...
and you? you're noon, late and still asleep.
I? an insomniac

Faithless, fearless, sleepless.

Now Playing: Dynamite [album](Jamiroquai) Best Served with: Daydream Martinis.

.:Lo wrote this at: 2:43 AM:.