The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world. - Leonard Cohen

O you've seen that man before his golden arm dispatching cards but now it's rusted from the elbow to the finger And he wants to trade the game he plays for shelter

And here you are hurried, And here you are gone; And here is the love, That it's all built upon.

Except for a couple of hours
in the morning
which I passed in the company
of a sage
I stayed in bed
without food
only a few mouthfuls of water
“you are a fine looking old man”
I said to myself in the mirror
“and what is more
you have the correct attitude
You don’t care if it ends
or if it goes on
And as for the women
and the music
there will be plenty of that
in Paradise”
Then I went to the Mosque
of Memory
to express my gratitude