30 blocks of thoughts

Hate it when I’m lucid on a Friday evening and have nothing to do but sit 15 inches from the computer screen, typing words and erasing them again. I’m actually missing my sleep deprived body and the fuzziness in which I interact with things. I shouldn’t have walked home from Broadway. The 30 blocks and fresh air in my lungs cleared the cirrus clouds in my brain. I really didn’t want them cleared. I wanted them to become higher level clouds; perhaps altocumulus would have been nice, not dark, but buoyant, unlike my current state. Mostly, I wanted to return to the last time I walked home from Broadway. It wasn’t very long ago. It was New Year’s Eve and I was on another planet. That night my mind raised so fast and I was experiencing a new sensation induced from the event that I stormed out of. But I couldn’t really recapture it. My memory had betrayed me once again. All I could concentrate on were people carrying plastic bags, fake flowers and Venetian curtains, the silver van that drove by again and again, the two Asian guys in their yellow Mazda on the corner of Victoria and Kingsway, lovers waiting for the bus and his shiny gold chain resting on his soccer jersey, homeless people curled in their sleeping bags with only two foot eaves and hard sidewalk for shelter, prepaid phone sign, fluorescent glow of a late night Chinese diner sign telling me I’m near home, gorgeous pictures of South Asian women with bindi on their foreheads and mehndi hands, the taste of his lips, mayflower restaurant and expecting pilgrims and members of Wampanaog tribe to walk out its door, more Vietnamese Pho restaurants, sky train and the wonders of engineering, and awesome nights in the land of the rising sun and the infrequency of that sensation.