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the crack’s arse, or arse crack, or whatever, of dawn, is becoming quite a familiar sight to these jet lag-weary eyes. not that i’ve ever been good at getting sleep.

the City is orange in its sleep. holds true for all the various stages of it, REM or non-REM, as it’s orange as it wakes as well. see, the City streets are lit up with these rows of round orange lights that turn everything orange and give the sky, particularly on cloudy nights, an orangey-fiery glow, like the whole City’s gone up in flames while no-one was looking, or, at least, not really paying that much attention, or even, quite possibly, playing the fiddle. these lights stay up well into the first few hours of dawn. then the sun starts to peep through the far eastern horizon, and it starts casting its own decidedly fruit-colored shiner on everything. everything exposed on the eastern face of things, at any rate.

of course, i may have it all wrong. if the City were, in fact, nocturnal, then it would be orange when it’s up, and when it’s about to go to bed. hard to tell, the gargantuan layabout. the whole thing just lies around stretched out from horizon to horizon all day and all night. and it talks all the time, if you care to listen, so that’s NEVER any indication.

hang on, are these the hallucinations they say you get when you don’t get enough sleep?

someday, i will post something of genuine interest on this blog. that’s a promise.

The City just woke-up outside. the sky turns pale as i watch. echoes of the one i just left behind ring with the rumble-sigh of the train running by on its first run of the day. visions of the Loop, each line a different color on the map (i miss the pre-recorded voice, naming the stations as we come to them. warning the standing passengers not to lean on the doors. shadeless mundane drek, painting local color to the scene in my memory. the interior as colorful as the races occupying the seats. they’re mostly black. this is oddly comforting). up at 2 AM, it took me three hours to realize having unproductive insomnia is as good a reason as any for a writer to start a blog.

call me a slow-starter. master-procrastinator and time-waster. yours and mine. perilous to the ambitious, antithesis to the go-getter.

yet the daylight rituals call. reluctant, it’s soon enough time to go.

well, that killed time well enough. we should do this more often.