It's terrible to allow conventional habits to gain a hold on a whole household; to eat, sleep and live by clock ticks.
I take a sun bath and listen to the hours, formulating, and disintegrating under the pines, and smell the resiny hardihood of the high noon hours. The world is lost in a blue haze of distances, and the immediate sleeps in a thin and finite sun.
I can't read or sleep. Without hope or youth or money I sit constantly wishing I were dead.
