Inner Narative, or; an exercise in futility

I sit in in the coldness of night afire with too much thought and not enough sleep. Worlds dance around me, people and places and feelings and stories all shifting, evolving, becoming, with or without me.

I am in a foot race to get this all down. My fingers are flying, dancing, racing, lunging, plunging, ravaging, sacking, pillaging, commanding, wreaking havoc with the keys. The keys themselves offer click, crash, snap, boom, ack, pop, clack, snicker, tick tick tick tick tick...

I am writing in a furious storm and going nowhere. I am swimming in the abyss moving about just to delight in the feeling of it all washing over me like cool water. Nothing will satiate me. Nothing will slake me. Too many words. Too many emotions. Need more sleep. Need more coffee. Need more love. Need more freedom. Need more chocolate. Need more More MORE MORE!!!

Wow. All that in two minutes. Thanks for coming along for the ride.