Slideshow Blues

i've been having trouble sleeping. like my sleep pattern still isn't right. it's 2 am now and my eyes are wired. it's been like this the past few nights. i thought if i got some exercise maybe it would change. so i went for a jog. another one wandering down to the river. sat there. closed my eyes to try to meditate. got bored. listened to the shshing of the water over the rocks. and then jogged back. got lost. and walked.
it doesn't seem to be helping anything.
i couldn't find my journal.
lying here in bed on the floor of the apartment where i used to live. in residential limbo. not living here not visiting. but residing. as i lie here trying to convice my eyelids to fall, images begin to drift through my mind. i see the dorm in budapest and klara and suzi. i see the coffee machine and the receptionist who spoke no english. i see the chairs and the tv always airing the world cup. i see the black metal gate outside. i remember only one hungarian word: kosonom. i see the fold out couch in switzerland and think of george and stephan and daniella playing dog and drinking wine. i see munich and my australian friends in the hostel. i see bahnhoff mitte in dresden. i'm waiting there afraid that i'm in the wrong place. hubert smiling big covered in banana yellow house paint waves to me. i see torston preparing those potato dumpling balls. i see him across the table in his granny glasses nodding smiling and listening to me. i see the red light overhead as i fall asleep in the closet turned bedroom. i see the blue fold out pad on the hardwood floor in florian's flat in berlin. i can see it plain as day. i see potsdamer platz. the green sloping lawn and ultra modern architecture. i see the tent in belgium and jair's prefurb flat in amsterdam. i remember the slight sense of dread each time i turned the lock in the door. i remember the way the key didn't quite fit and you have to lift up real hard to turn it in the lock. now i'm in quimper, now i'm in paris. i can see cirilo's half finished canvas leaning on the wall. a surreal face with a baby curled up for the eye. i see the paint on the walls. two layers. the top yellow doesn't cover the corners or the tight spots. i see the exposed pipes and wires. the light switch hanging from the ceiling in the bathroom. i see cirilo walking up the steps wrapped in a scarf. it's 4 am and we've been locked in the hall all night.

just thinking of these things transports me there. it's like i can see them, my friends right before me. but they can't see me anymore. when i speak they can't hear me. they pass through me. i can't lie in the beds anymore. i can't eat the food anymore. but if i concentrate i'm there. so real i want to scream. because i'm caught between two worlds.
but one day these memories will fade. it will start with the details. the rust, the tile floors, the facial features, the warmth of the blanket, and it will spread. names will disappear, places confused, city blocks will go up in smoke. nations removed. until all i have are a few words and some photos of nameless places. one day the life of these memories will burn out. pfff. and the smoke will clear. the candle burned. stashed in a shoebox.
i miss it so much right now. the people. someday i won't and that saddens me.

it's late and i can't sleep. i want to go for a walk and sleep in a park in berlin.