King's Gardens

In a quiet sylvan glade, amidst beauty, charm, and grace a new poetic force emerges to dance words wanton and chaste I caught him walking alone, On a path in my garden the gentle poet does not reflect me so I scream despair and rip out his throat With blood and tears dripping my hands clenched and gory If I can't write free and creative I must take infamous glory...

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Sleeping

I woke up at 3:30 this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. How messed up. I went to bed at 11 you'd think I'd be able to sleep longer than that. I know what it was too, the two martinis I had last night wore off at exactly 3:30 this morning, and without the effect of alcohol my body was unable to sleep. I'm not really an insomniac because I do sleep every night usually for 4 to 6 hours. If I take a benadryl I can sleep almost 8 hours before my back hurts enough to wake me up.
I dreamed I was standing in front of a policeman on a horse, I was kind of petting the horse- he kept nipping at my hand, but really gently. Then the cop turn away and the horse leaned over and bit me right over my ribs slightly behind my arm. it wouldn't let go and everytime I tried to get the cop's attention I got tears in my eyes and couldn't speak from the pain..

2 Comments:

  • At 8:36 AM, Blogger sex scenes at starbucks said…

    I hate those wake-your-ass-up dreams. Sounds like we've got sleep habits in common. No one believes me that I do pretty good on about 6 hours.

    Did you lay there and came up with good ideas to write about, which were subsequently forgotten?

     
  • At 9:12 AM, Blogger GoodKing Alan said…

    For a little while, nothing good i'm still too wrapped up in the story I'm on I wrote myself into another corner
    (but I like this corner don't want to give it up)
    just need something clever to move on..

     

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