no hour has come

the heat disables thinking.like if the celss weren't able to communicate, like if there were no place for thoughts,for any brain activity except from overwehlming need of sleeping of hiding.the air burns and hurts my eyes. i woke up thinking i'm gonna be late for my train but there was no train for me.
the hour didn't strike, no hour has stricken.
the clock's empty face laughs.
my soul presses my body. Dreaming hurts..because non-existence is nearer as it has ever been.
I'm waiting for Pimko to take me back to school. I'm waiting... waiting for darkness for rain for shadow for something to happen. I'm waiting listening to Ferdydurke, read by Fronczewski, i'm trying to read Brothers Karamazow, but Dostoyewski has never experienced such a heat, obviously, the letters change too fast, the book is written too fast, i can't follow..