It was one of those rare minutes when dreams recede, thoughts gradually acquire logic, and you lie there, eyes open. The bed is a waiting room. One leaves it. Empty or near empty, pone leaves or is chased out. The transgressions against sleep are invasive, night after night. Acts of sedition committed against the pacific state. Insomnia, a preventative measure, keeping at bay the state of forgetting.
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Initially I felt a personal degradation then, secondly, the sting of the collective insult. In the safety of the late hour and the solitude of writing in a notebook, I can pretend to be outraged and preserve a kind of self-respect.


Susan Daitch -- L.C.