Well, here it is, 2:30 in the morning. Hello, 2:30 a.m. We haven't seen each other since I wrote the paper on Nazi aesthetic policies (it kept me up all night).
I like the middle of the night. There's something sort of... I don't want to use the word peaceful, but it's the only one coming to mind. Tranquil. Calm. Solitary. A very learned person that I know once said that there are no true synonyms, and I like the idea of that and think it's true. There is a difference between tranquil and calm. And the middle of the night is quiet. My asshole neighbours are sleeping, and the only sounds in my flat are the murmured tappings of my fingers on computer keys and the slightest rustling of the liquorice package as I remove another bright red stick... The middle of the night is good for writing.
I am tired now, though. I am still trying to finish the paper that was due on Monday (for a while I thought that I would write the entire thing in caps lock, or maybe wingdings - honestly what is the purpose of the wingding font? there are no letters here, and who has time to work out this ingenious code of symbols? am i missing something?) and while my creative writing portfolio and artist's statement are finished, my story does not yet have a title and that concerns me a little. Something about apples? Something about strings? In my last packet of stories, one of the comments was that one of my titles was too postmodern... I don't really know if that was a bad thing, but the "too" that modified the "postmodern" might indicate so... In which case, I don't really know what that means. I'm not sure why the postmodern is bad. Lately I love the postmodern. Différence.
Oh, look at that. Now it's 3 a.m.
Time for that middle of the night burst of genius.
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