A procession of dunces, banging around between left and right ear, searching for some water source, energetic rush, ATP chain, all holding each others hands in the dark folds of grey matter, walking lightly as to not wake the beast or leave any imprint or memory. Feelings and emotions on pause or tiredness or depression or lack of motivation. What would have got him up at 530 am to start the day? A mouth on his dick, a war coming over the hills, a collosal tidal wave. What gets one up in the morning? This is in many ways the question he is playing with everyday, an involuntary project, revisited and tested. Some lunge for their work grabbing coffee in motion towards the door, towards the bus, towards the bus station, towards the walk to the office, towards the first meeting, towards the list of emails to be responded to. Being pulled from bed rather than pushing yourself. Pulled by the forces of responsibility of fear of performance of should and punishments and consequences. Pulled to the stable to milk the swollen goats. He thinks about what forces push and pull him into bed, into sleep, about how it is somehow permissible to sleep, to spend 8 hours motionless, in a dark bag, huffing and snoring, productionless and fruitless. His eyes move to the top right of the screen catching the time moving again. 919! The productive half off the morning already squandered in the transition between sleep and wake, some internal structure or practice could pull him through this energy migration. Movement. He remembers Sean who jumps out of bed onto his cold muscles, darting for speaker system, pushing a few buttons and the dark morning is a dance party. Stretching and body movement, overriding the tired mind with a push start, moving tires and gears and mechanics before any complex electrical components are even necessary. PUSH. PUSH out of bed towards some daily trajectory or goal. Set your aim and fire yourself through the morning hours. This is a moment to gain momentum. To set a tone. A new life birthed each morning.