Insomnia

He was just like, that's what he was like, no criticisms that hadn't been crafted at a thrift shop, no interpretations that weren't seen through a focused one-dimensional lens that dismissed before trying to understand controversial out-of-the-box cultural objects of inquiry. Foolish little Kermode, happy with your bowl turned thirty years old this year, didn't you, you didn't?, why, yes you did, you did little Kermode, yes yes. Foam from his tongue on-the-run-stunned by knowledge, paradox, cake that had to be and eaten as well juxtaposed with complicating things. That lush spirit bear, originator of wimp mouth, prince of a thousand enemies, relaxed. He had done things, many things, out there inside his room, searching. What would that taste like, he could work there, like that gas station in the middle of nowhere, or driving a train, choo-choo-choo, escape, like Aeneus of old, broadsided. The room was lined with little plants who required water and sun light as well as landscape paintings with a television and a brass tiger lamp. Woollen socks were being worn when he got out of bed to watch television in his pajamas, Wolfy vigilantly guarding the VCR, always there, permanent, the same thoughtful stare, resting, loyal, trustworthy, true. A half-finished glass of orange juice was on the floor next to a cheese sandwich missing three bites. The fight was on, boxing, he was attempting to understand but couldn't and didn't feel noble because he was trying even though as he continued he appreciated how these thoughts paralleled the bout. 1 2 3 times top, out of your rut little Kermode, Duke of Determination, Earl of Evanescence, out into the great universal wherein you'll find something new, whereby you'll be challenged, excellent suggestion, nice.