Cant sleep for fear of death

Dear friend

Curiouser and curiouser. I must confess, I wont sleep through fear of death. If I waste this time I will waste it all. I am conscious of but one thing. Time is killing me. Its a curious invention and a deadly one at that. My eyes droop slightly. When I was a child I wrote a story, many in fact, of detective fiction. A private eye and his antics. It was in the most humorous sorts. It was not very good, but better than most probably. I am thinking. I am thinking that some things are slowly coming together. In the mood of an elevator I am beginning to see the light. It is people you see, people that exist and that is all. And the more you focus the more they are. Minute and insidious. But nonetheless they are there and that is all. I cannot stand most of them and yet I love them all. Well not many actually. So many half hearted half baked idealists pushing moronic made up monstrosities of ideas onto me and my other semi sane fellows. I want to stand tall and with the glint in my eye, I want to command the room with but a switch in direction. Yet I think not. My inabilities scratch at me and laugh at me and disable me. Its strange to be so daft and yet still be surrounded by so many not even able to attain daftness. I lie in the bed but what of the fleas will they appear tonight? Vampiric little creatures sharing with me in the dark. I lose track. People. Persons. Person and person.