So, last night, in the early hours of the morning, I couldn’t sleep. My solution was to pick up my mattress and drag it all the way over to the seaside. I positioned it, mid-beach, then laid back down. The temperature was neither warm nor cold, and there was no breeze to hint of any change in the weather. Calypso made her presence felt and laid peacefully beside me. The moon was full, and the stars of either now, or long ago looked on in approval. I lay still, and as a baby, let my lower abdomen take full control of my every breath. I yawned and allowed the mattress bear my entire weight.
The ocean russled…
The moon shone…

My limbs might just as well have been glued to the mattress, since they had remained motionless for hours now – so, instinctually, i peeled myself off its surface, and approached the shoreline.
I then found myself the perfect pozzy where i could play with the sticks, stones and sand. Instead of a castle, as such, i con­structed a metropolis with tall structures, with roads where tiny pieces of dead wood played the part of cars and people. A setting within which it became increasingly possible to carry out myriad imaginations. A gritty world of happiness, of torture, and of the dramas I’m so desperate to see and vicariously live through.

What a wonder: the metropolis!

Ahh, its potential personas – they were suddenly so essential to me, in such a silent, stagnant paradise. Lonesome lucidity within such a polished self-satisfaction, and yet, what is it with­out a position or a direction even (and since my efforts to con­struct a steeple crumble, and will continue to crumble)?