Insert Barnacle Hangline Here: not there... actually here: or maybe to the left, of fuck just read it

i'm tired. unable to sleep- unable to comprehend just what or how is keeping my jamming my foot into the hardwood floor. i lie, lay, fade down into the floor waiting for the sleep to come and take me. it was all circular, the price i paid long ago, somewhere down that downtrodden road filled with field mice and anarchist pigs, filled with high flying low flying crop dusters, dusting us with tar and feathers to run around and try and fornicate everyone. to be be under the onside of an argument. i watched as he pointed his long bony finger out over my head and it shook, i tell you it shook man, with the cold pressing in through the walls, the old man shook at the sight of the midnight sky filled with a piece of the moon. he stirred the fire with the end of the cane and never before in my life had i wanted to kick that cane right out of his freaking weightless hand and watch him fall in, not to die, not to be burnt, but to watch the fire in his eyes as he came after me ready to teach a young man a lesson. his small clenched fist tight soaring through the air in slow motion, making contact with my temple, then blackness. the sleep engulfed me.