the no-sleep bus
Semester finals are next week.
The ultimate study groove requires a certain ambience, like a cafe.
Nothing fancy, any shop that’ll let me grift, at a table unbothered, for six hours - with the rain tip-tapping the window, like a pulse needing auscultation - will do.
I’m on the no-sleep bus and there’s no coasting
luckily, my hippocampus flourishes in café's light.
I’m trading sleep for synapses
with drills on repeat - if I rest, I forget, if I keep thinking, I fray
but exhaustion can buy me two more rounds of flashcards
I’m pumping espresso blood
wearing half-ironed looks
Have you ever noticed how the Paris metro-map resembles a somatic nerve? On the metro, between Porte de Saint-Ouen and École Militaire - as Paris slides by - I practice diagramming the scapula on my iPad Pro. Blurry Paris, blurry neon, blurry anatomy.
And I’m starting to think in Latin - ‘os talus coniungitur..’
If I’m not memorizing something,
it’s because my mind’s been scraped raw
and I’m on autopilot - more often than not,
Peter (my bf) drags me to bed @ 2am
But salvation comes - next Saturday - in the form of Noel school break.
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A Christmas playlist for this: =]
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_18.mp3
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os talus coniungitur = nursery rhyme “the ankle bone’s connected to..”
auscultation = examination
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