Last night I went to bed exceptionally early at 1 AM.
I lay on my stomach and I was trying to turn in but I couldn't bother to turn off the light, but I turned on the radio, and the radio started spitting hypnotic rhythms into the room,
and I lay there and something strange started happening: my head was suddenly full of poetry, really surrealistic poetry, and at the same time my body started to EXPAND, it started to expand in a strange way (this happens sometimes):
suddenly I felt really big and flat and out of order in my bed, and the music kept playing and I kept expanding,
and suddenly I pictured my future self: it was a peculiar hallucination, a hallucination in which I'd finally written my first proper book. And the book was called
It's mine, and I hate it.