it is 2 a.m. and my world is silent
perhaps too silent for my sanity
i sit alone--shuttered from the outside
i have my thoughts and a cold beer
the cat is sleeping atop the printer
but i hardly recognize her presence
after midnight she becomes a fixture
before me sits an old-ass laptop
and by old i mean that it is old enough
to drink beer right along with me
the laptop is too outdated for the internet
and that suits my purpose just fine
i do not want anything distracting me
as the night wore on i typed about happenings
i typed about things i witnessed, heard, and felt
i wrote at length about subjects that are dear to me
life, love, regrets, darkest desires, and whatnots
the result is an ongoing plain-text record my existence
journalistic proof of my consciousness--a digital codex
where i convey my dreams of an elysian future--to the future
with the blind assumption that somehow, someway
this information might benefit me along the way
as i filled the twelve-inch screen with words
i heard the cat stir over on the printer
i glanced over and she raised her head
she stared straight through me with her piercing eyes
i leered back at her for a long moment before she
yawned and curled back down into her sleeping position
my thoughts shifted towards the cat and her sleep rituals
and that got me to thinking about my own ritualistic habits
i took a long hit off my beer before typing out this new thought
in the future--if i ever get around to reading these pages
that i sit here and type--every single night
what will i see?
will i be enthralled by this collection of thoughts and memories
from the times i spent alone with myself? and at some point
will i finally be able to realize my life goals by simply
looking at the past?
or--will this night be remembered as just another night
that i shamelessly pissed away in the midst of silence?
Posted: May 16, 2026, 2:00 am