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Fever
Okay, I really need to access some of these ideas. They, the ideas, are literally coming at me in the night with butcher knives drawn, hacking away in the darkness at my inability to pay attention. "Pay attention," the ideas scream, sometimes wearing the costume of me, my hand flailing, shiny blade finding no purchase.
What the hell do you mean to do they or I might ask, awake, again, on the edge of my fears.
It doesn't rain where I am when I am but of late the skies are striated shades of grey, offering meaning beyond my understanding.
I read of an art opening, saw a sample of birds on a wire spelling out clearly some message I can't remember. I thought it seemed kind of silly, but there they are now, on the wires above the auto title establishment, pigeons, less than random, spelling out in some language I do not read.
It has been warm here everyday of January. I don't wear shoes when I don't have to. Seems to fit the pattern.