Category Archives: Time Travel

We Are The Nocturnal

We are The Nocturnal. It’s who we are. The wheels in our heads turn at night. Whether it’s fast or slow or somewhere in-between, they turn and churn. And they don’t stop. Sometimes seems like they never will. If that sounds like a negative, my apologies.

These days I don’t bemoan my laying awake nights. I used to.

insomnia-1 2013_05_13Thirty years ago I’d slip out (from under the covers) and drive to a coffee shop at 3AM and write on napkins. Don’t really need that milieu now, as I’ve come to like my own brew and milieu. But I still write at night. Yes it’s changed, and no it hasn’t changed. White coffee is an adequate companion.

I used to fret about it – if it can be said that I ever fretted about a thing. Point is not to torture ourselves by laying awake in bed. DO something, right. If you’re going to be awake, might as well do something. Doesn’t have to be productive.

If we lay in bed during these hours, there is almost nothing worse. But why continue to foist that misery upon ourselves. We can’t pry ourselves to sleep – that mindset seems to be at cross-purposes with sleep. Maybe it’s a bit like saying “try really hard to relax.” We only sleep when our minds are emptied. So, how do you do that without exerting energy?

I know I’m not depressed. Maybe I’m just persuading myself here. But hear me out.

If I were depressed I’d be in bed all day and all night. I mean, wouldn’t I? It’s a comfort, then, being up half the night – it’s not a distraction. You can sort through issues at night, as long as you’re not trying to rectify or sanctify or reconcile or whatever you call it when you’re trying to make something appear more noble than it really is. In answer to your question, yes I tend to do that. Don’t we all? Am I doing that now?

Should we be concerned that we’re “not like everyone else” – like everyone who has these perceived regular schedules that we should all submit or conform to. Or maybe we should realize that our insomnia is more common than most people knew before.

So, sure, I’m feeding my brain with data at night, but some of that data is social. I keep up with my celeb friends whom I imagine are real friends (most of them are not friends or celebs). I like thinkers. Funny people are thinkers. I like funny people, and I keep up with them.

You know, as far as fitting in, it’s not like most of us ever fit in anywhere. Do we all want to? Fit in, I mean. Would that be boring if it were all part of some homogenated or homogenized pack of lemmings? Again, the negative creeps in. I’m working on it. Like Chris Rea, I’m working on it.

Of course, you must realize that things somehow changed. At least they did for me. A few years ago I began to embrace my open-eyed nights. Not sure exactly if it was one thing or several inputs that changed my thinking.

Part of me wants to report that I now make the most of my nights, that I’m highly productive in these off-hours. Truth be told, I am probably marginally more efficient, but I also need this time as down-time for me. For just me. Throw my brain into Park – Neutral, even. There are many gears – we don’t always need to be in Drive. Maybe the other gears serve as a sleep substitute in some small way.

I understand that, maybe – possibly – we want to force ourselves into that schedule of “awake at day” and “asleep at night,” but is that really fair – for whatever our reasons – to us, we who are not committed (no other word) to that mundane routine?

The news. Maybe you follow the news – and I know people who don’t follow it at all, thinking that “if it’s important, it will bubble up to me” – the darkest hours are amenable to this keeping up with the news. You can go overboard with that. I am not saying you shouldn’t.

flying ghostsSo you see things in the dark? Me too. Ever since I was a kid. Images in the closet. On the walls. In the windows. We look for structure, we look for the known. Even if you don’t believe in ghosts, you sometimes feel a presence when the lights are off. That’s fine. It’s totally imagined, right. Some people think there is no spirit world or afterlife, and these senses tend to make the forehead itch. Perhaps we have to be all right with that.

Back to the emptying process. Part of emptying the mind is this: not needing to be right. I have been surprised at how much time this frees up. But of course I’m no expert. Either about emptying the mind or about being right.

That internal struggle many of us are intimate with – that is fuel for us, so am I saying we give up that fuel?  I know that I cannot do this entirely. If I were to let that go, I’d have nothing to write about. Or very little. If this seems contradictory, I’m apparently comfortable with that.

In fact, I’d be shocked if at least half my life didn’t turn out to be one big contradiction of terms. I would somehow be okay with that – I’d have to be. I’m human, and my feet are made of very soft clay.

Night thoughts can be mundane. There is no requirement that they be earth-shattering or philosophically original. They can be obsessive. In fact, it’s almost mandatory that they be obsessive. If they weren’t, we’d probably all be sleeping, then, wouldn’t we. (Maybe read that last sentence again, this time with some form of British accent. Makes it flow, somehow.)

Nighttime can be opportune for time-travel. Use this space wisely. No one wants a bad report card, so behave yourself.

I’m up early for a flight to New York. Actually I never went to sleep. For better or worse, these are some of the issues of one Time-Traveling Mapmaker. Somehow I realize that you relate. Perhaps these are the words that put us back to sleep.


Paris is Always a Good Idea


The Tower shining under the night clouds.

“Paris [and Edinburgh are] always a good idea.” That’s a misquote. Audrey Hepburn really said “Paris is always a good idea.” And I don’t disagree. Not at all. We were going to see both cities.

My wife Jen is an avid reader of novels set in Scotland, so much so that we planned our recent vacation there. As luck would have it, our air travel included a bonus overnight stop in Paris (the one in France), so we took full advantage. Okay, half.

Now, Jen loves to walk in the rain. Slowly. Always has. Me too. It’s not just something we say – we relish that nice ambulatory soak.

Notre Dame was majestic. And closed. Sad face.

If you know me, you may know that I like maps, and I like planning. This being Jen’s first time in the City of Light(s), I asked myself what I could show her during a single night? I realized that this probably wasn’t about my “showing her” anything, really. Yes I’ve been to Paris quite a lot – but I’m hardly an expert tour guide, and the last time I was there was during the first Clinton Administration. We needed to hit the hot spots, and we didn’t have much time. What a luxury to be forced to choose which sights to see with the person you love more than anyone else.

Eek! Gargoyles at Notre Dame — I’m a-skeert!

After dropping our bags at the DeGaulle Airport Sheraton, we freshened up and hit the night bus to the train station as our excitement mounted. I don’t care how many times you’ve been to Paris – “Paris is always a good idea.”

Our plan included a round robin to the Notre Dame Cathedral, the Eiffel Tower, and the Champs-Élysées. Could we do all of this and get back to the hotel, wake up, and catch our morning flight to Edinburgh? I won’t keep you in suspense – we managed to get it all done in a bit of a breeze.

Yes, a bonus night in Paris is just that. But, as we exited the Metro at our first stop and ascended to the street, a light rain began to fall. “Paris is always a good idea” — thanks, Audrey Hepburn.

Traffic around the Arch of Triumph can be predictably unpredictable.

© 2012 Mick Circeo

25th April, 1865

From Washington Arsenal Penitentiary (Buzzard Point, Washington DC)

I’ve had dreams of killing my father. Of cutting his head off and stuffing it in a box or some other container and throwing it over a high cliff. Or burying it deep in the ground. Fantasies, that is all they are. Harmless thoughts. Of course I would not deign to act upon these ruminations. Sic semper tyrannis – yes I did say that – there have been reports that I did not, but I inscribe it here and now, so that all doubt shall be remov’d; “Thus always to tyrants.” I shouted it that night at a quarter past ten, almost laughed it, the very moment before I placed the barrel of my shooter behind the ear of the Tyrant and struck a blow for every thinking man in the Nonce.

Not that I wouldn’t kill a man if I had to. For the rights reasons, of course. It would have to be for the right reasons. So what is it, that would or should or could be considered Just Cause to kill a man? What if he threatened the welfare of a Nation, the Common Weal, as it were. What if his actions were so bold and so lecherous as to change the future course of a great Country for the worse? Endanger its citizenry. Destroy the marketplace and our ability to function at the top of the bill on the world’s stage. What if one man – or a small handful of men – put a Country at such risk?

Are we to stand idly by and watch the destruction of a Land that we, that I, have grown to love more than any living person? I should think not. For I should be adjudged by History to be worse a man than such men, if they properly be called men, were I to bear witness to these acts of waste now occurring, and yet do nothing. And that is why I killed the Tyrant, Mr. Lincoln.

Had Grant been in the box with the Tyrant, pursuant to the original plan, I should have done him in as well. I will admit that it required a full hour’s worth of whiskey to put me up to the task. Of that I am not ashamed in the least.

I know that I am but youthful, but then I look at George Armstrong Custer and what he has also achieved at his youthful age. As a practical matter, we are both the same in age. People often say we look like we could be brothers, were I not already to have a brother who could readily be called my twin. That is not an accident for Custer, so I am told, but by design. They say that he has always wanted to look like me, with the mustache and the hair, believing that it will bring him good fortune with the fairer sex. Perhaps that is true, as I have seen him in the company of many a young maiden. Without these newfound accoutrements of coiffeur and sartorial splendor, however, he is quite a plain fellow indeed.

History will acquit me, even if the courts do not, for I acted bravely, struck boldly, and retreated south to gather my troops. My army. Those of my Southern supporters who are with me in this fight and the continued Rebellion. This fight to preserve that which has made our Country great. The preservation of the Races. That which has allowed and enabled us to achieve the reaches and riches that no Nation has been able to attain in such a brief lifespan.

Truly I have been ordained by God to lead the Children of the Revolution back, from the precipice of defeat by the thinly veiled Freedom imposed by one Abraham Lincoln. May he never rest in peace. Figurative imprisonment by literal emancipation, hence bringing low both Races — this is what the Tyrant foisted upon our beloved Homeland.

And I shall not let that be done, nor could I have done so by inaction. What happens when such a Tyrant stands up in society and proclaims himself a god over the Races? He is struck down, and with permanency.

I did not hesitate. Would that my colleagues had possessed the courage and the determination and the bravado to have carried through with the selfsame success I enjoyed that blessed night. Alas they did not possess any of these virtues, and they are sure to pay the high price for their failures. But as I sit here in my jail cell, behind these cold stone walls and iron bars, awaiting the news of the men who would decide my fate, I say now that I do not regret a single moment of it. When tyrants act treasonously, they fall. And Lincoln fell. I remain proud to say that it was by my courageous hand.

If the jury convict me, future President Davis has promised to pardon me and restore me to my true and apt place in government. No longer will I be a player on a stage illuminated by footlights. I shall be acting in real life, impacting real people. I shall be exonerated, no longer subject to endure the shouts and taunts of “Kill the murderer!” And then the South will rise again, as Davis has promised. When I accept my appointment as Secretary of War in the Jefferson Davis Administration, I shall exact my revenge upon Grant in further fulfillment my foreordained destiny. That will be mine and mine alone.

I should think that it is a relief for our Nation, and not a burden, to have a true leader occupy the White House. One pure of Mind and Spirit. Not a warmonger or a wrongdoer or a political animal. There is no Left. There is no Right. There is only a North and a South.