My bed is littered, and yet it assumes the air of one that's merely strewn..
It's a proud bed, clad in mauve calm with plad shorelines; or loosely heaped purple sheets, for those who aren't familiar with ways of the whimsy.
My usually withdrawn bed, stays mostly littered with matte pieces of white gadgets, two books..one of which I've only half read, and the other I read halfheartedly. Wires, wires, a myriad of wires. Tropical rainless forest of charging white cables, and a remote? for ac (it's white too). I live with them and they've begun to form a rather integral part of my bed eco system. A self sustaining eco system, fueled by everlasting batteries of daily delusion.
There's a wearisome ipad, a tireless iphone, two bookmarks, peeking out from between the pages, with dashed hopes of ever being rescued, an asbestos sweater of badly knit and forever intertwined charging cables, an ac remote, a pair of keys and yet, not a single crease on my mauve bedsheets.
Most of this litter will never decompose, and might be in a decade or so, it'd turn into cancer perfumed fumes in some dying village in Arica, and then, it'll l be a part of another eco system..but that's another story in a different magazine.
This bed ecosystem extracts nutrients from my boredom, and its right to thrive from my will, and I'm only too happy to oblige. We share gentle assurances, midnight laughter and dead sleepy bored browsing.
My books have pages, and pages make me feel like I don't care all that much about trashy virtual fix. Books work to maintain a balance in the system, emanating intellectual facade that cloaks dependence.
My daily bed eco system and I, we meet each other mostly at night, its roots embedded in life; It disappears for great stretches of time, and returns on nights when one end of the shoreline is empty.
It's a proud bed, clad in mauve calm with plad shorelines; or loosely heaped purple sheets, for those who aren't familiar with ways of the whimsy.
My usually withdrawn bed, stays mostly littered with matte pieces of white gadgets, two books..one of which I've only half read, and the other I read halfheartedly. Wires, wires, a myriad of wires. Tropical rainless forest of charging white cables, and a remote? for ac (it's white too). I live with them and they've begun to form a rather integral part of my bed eco system. A self sustaining eco system, fueled by everlasting batteries of daily delusion.
There's a wearisome ipad, a tireless iphone, two bookmarks, peeking out from between the pages, with dashed hopes of ever being rescued, an asbestos sweater of badly knit and forever intertwined charging cables, an ac remote, a pair of keys and yet, not a single crease on my mauve bedsheets.
Most of this litter will never decompose, and might be in a decade or so, it'd turn into cancer perfumed fumes in some dying village in Arica, and then, it'll l be a part of another eco system..but that's another story in a different magazine.
This bed ecosystem extracts nutrients from my boredom, and its right to thrive from my will, and I'm only too happy to oblige. We share gentle assurances, midnight laughter and dead sleepy bored browsing.
My books have pages, and pages make me feel like I don't care all that much about trashy virtual fix. Books work to maintain a balance in the system, emanating intellectual facade that cloaks dependence.
My daily bed eco system and I, we meet each other mostly at night, its roots embedded in life; It disappears for great stretches of time, and returns on nights when one end of the shoreline is empty.
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