Last Nights Sleeping and things that go Bump
On Sleeping on a Futon Last Night:
Ok, the Japanese make better cars and electronics than us, then why in the fuck cant that great and clever race of people refine the futon, so that you can sleep the night through on it without waking up three of four times going fuck!... this is one un-comfortable thing to sleep on.
I moved to the floor, at which time the hounds joined me and we slept the rest of the night over by the heat register in the parlor.
Undignified, yes… but damn I slept well, I highly recommend it.
On Why I Slept on a Futon Last Night:
Have you ever been a crew member of a Turkish freighter? Dear friends it is an experience that is character building to say the least. One finds it difficult if not imposable to sleep after standing the midnight-watch. The snores and sounds emanating from your shipmates can best be described as a chainsaw convention meets a bovine methane research center.
And thus Mrs. John Q. Public returned to the manor, after her tour of the mid-west as the manager of the definitive Metal Band Mega-Death. Needless to say I was unaccustomed to her presence in my bed. In my concern for her uninterrupted respite from the rigors of the road, I thought it best to seek my slumber elsewhere. Thus the futon in the music room.
On the Road with Mrs. John Q. Public:
Upon her return, in which with her haste to once again enjoy the amenities of our home, she managed to sideswipe both the Organ Donation Van and the Church Bus, she uttered one statement before collapsing from what I can only assume was complete fatigue: “there are only so many lines of coke you can do off the asses of 18 year-old groupies, so many pills you can pop, so many days you can stay awake, mother-fucker my jaw is sore, and who in the fuck are you, this isnt Ohio?”
My poor little camper, I have not seen her spent like this since she worked the New Hampshire Campaign for then Governor Bill Clinton.
On forgetting:
You ever want to forget something? Most often it’s something we have done, or some thing that embarrasses us, or makes us ashamed, things that remind us we are not who we think we are we are just us, and sometimes its even good things. I have found that even if I try, I can not forget any slight I have done another, any action of significance, any pain, anymore than I could forget my left hand.
I have a friend, who lost his leg, he still remembers what it was like to have that leg, and it’s been 15 years. There are times in the middle of the night that he will wake-up and get out of bed forgetting and fall flat on his face. He says, after a while your get used to it all except for the God-Damn itching, itching that you can not scratch on a leg that not longer exists, he told me that never goes away. But it doesn’t make it any less real. Just something I am thinking about today, winter in Indiana is always a good time to think, I find.
Moving toward Introspection, I remain:
JQP
Ok, the Japanese make better cars and electronics than us, then why in the fuck cant that great and clever race of people refine the futon, so that you can sleep the night through on it without waking up three of four times going fuck!... this is one un-comfortable thing to sleep on.
I moved to the floor, at which time the hounds joined me and we slept the rest of the night over by the heat register in the parlor.
Undignified, yes… but damn I slept well, I highly recommend it.
On Why I Slept on a Futon Last Night:
Have you ever been a crew member of a Turkish freighter? Dear friends it is an experience that is character building to say the least. One finds it difficult if not imposable to sleep after standing the midnight-watch. The snores and sounds emanating from your shipmates can best be described as a chainsaw convention meets a bovine methane research center.
And thus Mrs. John Q. Public returned to the manor, after her tour of the mid-west as the manager of the definitive Metal Band Mega-Death. Needless to say I was unaccustomed to her presence in my bed. In my concern for her uninterrupted respite from the rigors of the road, I thought it best to seek my slumber elsewhere. Thus the futon in the music room.
On the Road with Mrs. John Q. Public:
Upon her return, in which with her haste to once again enjoy the amenities of our home, she managed to sideswipe both the Organ Donation Van and the Church Bus, she uttered one statement before collapsing from what I can only assume was complete fatigue: “there are only so many lines of coke you can do off the asses of 18 year-old groupies, so many pills you can pop, so many days you can stay awake, mother-fucker my jaw is sore, and who in the fuck are you, this isnt Ohio?”
My poor little camper, I have not seen her spent like this since she worked the New Hampshire Campaign for then Governor Bill Clinton.
On forgetting:
You ever want to forget something? Most often it’s something we have done, or some thing that embarrasses us, or makes us ashamed, things that remind us we are not who we think we are we are just us, and sometimes its even good things. I have found that even if I try, I can not forget any slight I have done another, any action of significance, any pain, anymore than I could forget my left hand.
I have a friend, who lost his leg, he still remembers what it was like to have that leg, and it’s been 15 years. There are times in the middle of the night that he will wake-up and get out of bed forgetting and fall flat on his face. He says, after a while your get used to it all except for the God-Damn itching, itching that you can not scratch on a leg that not longer exists, he told me that never goes away. But it doesn’t make it any less real. Just something I am thinking about today, winter in Indiana is always a good time to think, I find.
Moving toward Introspection, I remain:
JQP
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 3:59 AM
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