Keep Your Eye on the Finger

Just past midnight. Time creeps. I keep telling myself not to care, not to dwell. O angel, won't you call me? No no no. I don't care. I care desperately. I tear myself apart. I run into the night, determined not to stop until I arrive at some sort of answer. Until I track down some reason. Are we going to survive this damage? Will we ever come back again? We must. Must we? Naturally we must.
Reading Dave Eggers does this to me.
The plan is as follows:
Keep busy. Keep busy. Keep busy. November is coming. Don't leave the haiku til bedtime:

olivia tremor control
says please please please
don't you ever change your mind on me

There is the stale smell of incense on the air. Memories of years gone by. The smell of every room you've lived in. Jeff Buckley's favorite. Aphrodisiac for the world.

Consider the adage: Eat, Drink, and Be Merry, For Tomorrow We Die.
If you're at all like me, you feel fairly secure that, while anything is possible, you will rise tomorrow feeling healthy and very much alive indeed. That you will continue to do so for many days to come. All things being possible, we may die before the morning comes. Though the odds are against.
But if we are to die tomorrow, then tonight, we must dance.
Take a drink to loosen your limbs, or follow this ingeniously simple suggestion from Mr. Jason Webley:
Point your right index finger towards the heavens, hard and erect. Hold it up proudly. Look at it. Look at it as if it were the only thing in the universe. Don't look at my finger, look at your own damn finger!
Keep looking at it...
Now: spin around twelve times. Keep your eye on the finger...

Come, I'll do it with you.

Are you ready?

One!
Two!
Three!
Four!
Five!
Six!
Seven!
Eight!
Nine!
Ten!
Eleven!
Teeeen....
Eleven...
TWELVE!


Dance. Sing.

And rest.