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Sleepless night
(2006-03-14 02:40:53)
I haven't slept well for couples of days. Is this sentence gramarically correct? 'Tis my first notion in mind. Which is more important, Accuracy or speed? The question I ask constantly;the answer, I know not.
The fragments of thousands of thoughts keep haunting me everytime when I lay myself down the only sofa in my room. Last night, for instance, these things were strolling in the table of my brain, the lackness of determination, the frugility of ambition, and the souvenir which I took on my birthday--a happy accident.
And dream--the last noble visitor--came. In the arms of this black godness,I saw myself were transforming to a F1 racer, waking agnorantly, with steers in hand.
I had enjoyed this dream until unwanted urine urged me to wake up. It is half past two. Standing in front of the west window, I gave a birdview to this sleeping city. Lights were twinkling on the top of huge buildings, signaling warning to flight vehicles, if any.
Suddenly, the moon is finding me. She is hanging over the high sky and smiling to me in a mixed manner of irony and sympathy. I am startled. Settling myself down on a chair, I light a cigirate. Darkness is burnt however makes not a stir. Some pieces of poetry are just drifting into my mind. "Stuck by this precious hour and beautiful scenery, I can do nothing."
When shall I forget about this poor state of being? When shall I escape from this mean life? When shall you come, my redeemer, my little fairy narrator? If you arrive, how could you address yourself? I just wonder.
I am lost totally and apparently. Now tell me, when I shall be found? The quetion I ask;the answer I know not. A little slumber, a little dream might carry me the delayed solution in this sleepless night.
The fragments of thousands of thoughts keep haunting me everytime when I lay myself down the only sofa in my room. Last night, for instance, these things were strolling in the table of my brain, the lackness of determination, the frugility of ambition, and the souvenir which I took on my birthday--a happy accident.
And dream--the last noble visitor--came. In the arms of this black godness,I saw myself were transforming to a F1 racer, waking agnorantly, with steers in hand.
I had enjoyed this dream until unwanted urine urged me to wake up. It is half past two. Standing in front of the west window, I gave a birdview to this sleeping city. Lights were twinkling on the top of huge buildings, signaling warning to flight vehicles, if any.
Suddenly, the moon is finding me. She is hanging over the high sky and smiling to me in a mixed manner of irony and sympathy. I am startled. Settling myself down on a chair, I light a cigirate. Darkness is burnt however makes not a stir. Some pieces of poetry are just drifting into my mind. "Stuck by this precious hour and beautiful scenery, I can do nothing."
When shall I forget about this poor state of being? When shall I escape from this mean life? When shall you come, my redeemer, my little fairy narrator? If you arrive, how could you address yourself? I just wonder.
I am lost totally and apparently. Now tell me, when I shall be found? The quetion I ask;the answer I know not. A little slumber, a little dream might carry me the delayed solution in this sleepless night.
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