Old novels fall off packed shelves.
I fell asleep while reading some old Asimov last night. I fell asleep in the big chair in the living room, wrapped in a comfortable blanket. I fell asleep while watching Spike TV after 10 cups of coffee and you’re still not here. That prelude of a delussional future, Prelude to Foundation, lurked, and drove to a dusty corner, it was sticking out a little further than the rest, and I was dreaming in a state of simpler things, dreaming of a song but something went wrong but I can’t tell anyone ’cause no one’s here. Left me here alone, and I should have stayed home after 10 cups of coffee, I’m thinking. Thinking of simpler things less poisoned by today. Naive. Forever and ever. Where’d you go? Anchors in time, linking us to things of less concern, days past and random nuances of yesterday. Where’d you go? When things do happen they are forced or cornered, or even more chaotic than is measurable by the confines of control. They’re all out without you havin’ fun we think and then move on to reality. Where’d you go?