was up the whole night staring at the ceiling. beyond the patch of whiteness i seem to find colors fusing, thoughts colliding, feelings clashing . . . yet behind all these strange events, i hear the clock ticking away, dragging me back to reality. the ceiling indeed is just a piece of white.

finally went to sleep at the sound of the paper men throwing the morning papers over the gates so high . . . what a hard job thud thud thud.

mi iz confuzed.