rockabilly past my bedtime

Rockabilly music on the radio (streaming platform algorithm). Hundreds of dollars of ink in my skin. Or rather, trapped in the belly of a great white macrophage. White blood cells forever trying to eat the pigment and die trying. Ours is not to reason why. 

Had a lot to do today. Got a lot to do tomorrow. Sleep would be wise but this time feels like mine and I want to wrap it around me. 

(This isn't really a brains kind of operation.)

Trying to drive to the stars. 

There is a journey ahead, I think. The road calls me. Sends text messages. Somehow slipped into my calendar app and schedules clandestine meetings in ghost towns and gold mines. 

I have no business there anymore. The cardinal directions retired and now it's all geographic coordinate systems and left turns into traffic. 

I'm cozy now; and the whir of the fan covers up the sounds of chewing.