certain hours

Only certain hours of the day am I extremely verbal. When this mouth finally opens, a bit of proper speech mixed in with barks and howls, accentuating the most basic syllables, highlighting anything and everything, because I've been silent the entire day and these goes on for days and days. While these lips have been shut however my mind has been on high voltage. Sometimes I am convinced there are far too many synapses present and this would be terrific if only I were a city planner and could re-route a few things, and align some of the highways so that thoughts wouldn't get interrupted while others get carried away. It happens around eleven or midnight. The owl has chosen to be my power animal...but I don't know yet how fond I am of the idea. What's not to like really? They're the wise, patient, keepers of the night. But what about the day. The day is when most things get done. Busy as a bee, diligently I work,I work vigorously, it feels like erasing the hell out of a pencil scratching, just keep going at it. No different am I with play. Where there's time and will there is a way. I don't care with whom or what just so long as I am not alone, alone with my thoughts. I revere the owl, and at times, like right now, there is no one else, no cares to consider, just my thoughts and I and we are having light conversation without breaking things. But what of the day, when there is work and play and crazy's fool's words are muted and un-"hooted." Something should be done of the way she circles and smiles all the while she suffocates the inner wild.

Ratatat is cool- "17 years", take a listen to that song.
it explains this stupid blog post.