I slept most of yesterday, must have been two-thirds of the day,
and have been now awake two-thirds of the day, all of it
tired, which is a bit ironic. I feel I could sleep if I would
just lie down on the bed again, instead of sitting here before
the computer and an open window, the television showing feed
of dressage from the genocide-stained Paris Olympics behind
my back. I would like to walk to the beach and swim, next few
days will be rain and rain, like this coming evening, but I'm
simply too tired. But then, I did try that earlier, not swimming
but sleeping even more, putting aside Dumas and then that
snob Waugh, but it didn't work, not the first time nor
the second. My body knows it's rested, just my mind and eyes
that are tired, the body knows better, so I'm up and posting
on Instagram translations with errors, "tulee" twice
in the last one by the younger Darwish, That's what happens
when you do things with a tired mind instead of just watching
dressage from the genocide-stained Olympics, you spoil
good things like the voice of a nation whose babies
are being gutted and beheaded and burned alive and blinded
and left without limbs, alive until the next hospital massacre.
So that's my day, dear readers, how are yours going on that future
date on which your eyes are feeding your mind with this
wondrous Sumerian invention, writing, in which my thoughts
have been coded for you to decipher without you giving it
too much attention, the process in your mind, and perhaps
this poem. The former is the greater wonder, don't fall
to the plague of illiteracy, and even when the poem sucks,
remember to curse the genocidaires of all hues
and remember always their victims.
29.07.2024
