Oh Ambien, how I love your ways. I often end up writing, here's a taste if you'd like.

Ambien, good lord I have stories. Many nights waking up on the floor, dragging my mattress across the living room, revamping the sound system to be more "club-like," rambling conversations on AIM or in WoW, and lots and lots of writing.

My pride and joy from my ambien daze was waking up to a full nine pages of poetry, which, imo, wasn't half bad. I don't remember writing any of it, of course, I'm just glad I didn't delete it. (Alright, in retrospect, its pretty bad. There's some good one liners and phrases that happen later on, when I'm a little further away from awareness.)

This is Not Art - Part Five of Sixteen (or so.. many sections are much smaller and typos have been, mostly, left. I skipped what I thought was way too terrible/tacky to post)

and now for your mellow trance interlude

a deviation distraction destruction

paralized from the waist down

or have we decided to go up this time?

brain matter anti matter ice picks and queens

all traipsing across nothing

glass bridges and pirouettes

slum niceties

and her momma always said

always said

always said take it to the other side take it to the stars take it to the ghetto

take it to the tramps take it to the trumps

spades take all if you catch the right game

but hearts always win

bones and bones and bones we;re playing twelves right?