The insomnia distance of everything, a copy of a copy of a copy. You can't touch anything, and nothing can touch you.

He was a man who did not suffer but pleasured in sleepless nights of brooding on the great clock of the universe running down or winding itself up, who could tell? But many nights, listening, he decided first one way and then the other...

This is insomnia. All night, your thoughts are on the air.
All night long, you're thinking: Am I asleep? Have I slept?

And this week the insomnia is back. Insomnia, and now the whole world figures to stop by and take a dump on my grave.

I knew that so I tagged him because the insomnia was on again, and I was in a mood to destroy something beautiful.

This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy. The insomnia distance of everything, you can't touch anything and nothing can touch you.