2020-04-27 - 2:19 p.m.
I've mostly always enjoyed the time between head hitting pillow and sleep, and more and more I've been running through fantasies. Of being very tall, barefoot because there are no shoes big enough, shirtless, feral, and of helping the poor neighborhoods just 10 blocks away with their roofs, their dead cars, their burials. Or of flying, always in a mechanical contraption of some sort, for an hour or two every night, downtown, over the dark baseball stadium, over the dark harbor, the tall buildings lit up but not like before.
Dreaming, in that half-sleep, of escape, of freedom, of apart-ness, maybe, in a world that's been apart for going on two months now. But a world that's always been apart, of course, too, whether it's by skin color or what jobs are had or by which side you come down on about whether or not one should inject glass cleaner into one's veins.
Who knows what the answers are, but for fifteen minutes every night, thirty if I've been on the laptop too much, that soaringness sets me free, even as I know full well that down below, it's the same as it's always been, only now we have a name for it.
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