Finally: Challenging ones own perception by trying to recall everything that used to be of importance ever since leaving the first half of the day. And failing, as expected. Wondering whether to pick up that red thread and walk all the way back, but then letting things fade into the unknown past isn't too bad either. No guitar players, no candles tonight, most of the windows closed and most of the street like in a mode of early night. Even though it's already too late for that. Sleep tight everyone wherever you are.
Closing in on 10pm and listening to the fading, dissonant melodies of a filled long day. Too, someone is playing a guitar somewhere in the streets, once again, and it seems like practising beyond scales, practising that's achieving some result. (Lighting a candle. Leaving a concluding remark before flipping this page. Taking a deep breath, keeping air to oneself for a moment to counter the sensation of world spinning too fast. And waiting for some rest in all that. Sleep tight everyone wherever you are.)
Much later. Brief interlude of a lazy sun, late, somehow out of place, faded soon. The clouds seemed stronger even in this evening. A little lost for words, listening to the various channels and streams of communication permeating the various layers of this ever-conscious world. Wondering to play the piano a bit, but the chords won't align with the mood and each other. Now, waiting, for sleep, and some light dreams it might carry. Not too many expectations though. Have a quiet night wherever you are.
Close to midnight. The intangible clouds, the hidden links in between and the vast universe behind. Pondering about bits flowing down wires, the paths they take, the structures they form. Feeling a cool night, the neighbourhood that refuses to rest, the music that keeps on playing on and on. The art of laying awake in twilight as date displayed turns over. Today tomorrow yesterday and somewhere in between. Sleep well everyone once it's time for that, wherever you are.
10pm, still frantically running. Needles in haystacks, bandwidth jammed with logged events, an odd sequence of characters and numbers lacking any obvious pattern even at closer look. Communication threads left half-open, unacknowledged, unsure whether this is how it should be. A city wrapping itself in night again, neighbours smoking on the windowsill again, hardly anyone crossing below. New thoughts old music and searching for versions of oneself within. Thin lines enclosing weird dreams. Sleep well everyone wherever you are.