"The Time is the Fire in Which You Burn Blues"
I've been engaged in a game that involves sleep deprivation and lucid dreams.
It's cheap entertainment, but it plays hell with my memory.
I'm forgetting telephone numbers and passwords to websites. I have to spend extra minutes proofing anything I write because grammar and spelling will suddenly lose all meaning to me, without me realizing it. When I read something I just typed, half the time it doesn't make sense.
I still retain my earliest memories, oddly enough. Like the first time I saw fog, or the first time I saw a forest. I remember my parent's arguements, and I remember the way I felt when my Mom told me she was divorcing my Dad and we weren't going to live together anymore.
I got about three hours sleep last night and had a strange dream with all my friends in it; friends who stopped talking to me. Which, unfortunately for me, pretty much accounts for everyone. It was like no time had passed and there were no spaces between us. Does that make sense?
Sometimes when I come out of a dream, it's instant. Sometimes I'll even bolt upright, practically leaping out of bed with my eyes still closed. When you know you're dreaming, you can condition yourself to do things like that (not that you'd want to). Crashing your house like a loonytoon is not for the faint-hearted.
Other times, coming out of a dream is like fighting a weed with deep roots; you pull, but there's always a piece still stuck in middle earth somewhere. In those instances I have some difficulty distinguishing what's real or imagined. I get a creepy exhilaration out of it. A part of my brain is still programmed to perform like a junkie, and self-inflicted discombobulation fulfills the need.
This morning I awoke with little incident, I rolled over. I tried to examine the way I felt. It was resignation. One more day of putting up with all y'all and your chaotic bullshit. I went outside. Birds were chirping and dawn was coloring the horizon. I decided to climb up on the roof and wait. My mind went blank.
I saw the sun, I felt a little better, I came down.
I've been engaged in a game that involves sleep deprivation and lucid dreams.
It's cheap entertainment, but it plays hell with my memory.
I'm forgetting telephone numbers and passwords to websites. I have to spend extra minutes proofing anything I write because grammar and spelling will suddenly lose all meaning to me, without me realizing it. When I read something I just typed, half the time it doesn't make sense.
I still retain my earliest memories, oddly enough. Like the first time I saw fog, or the first time I saw a forest. I remember my parent's arguements, and I remember the way I felt when my Mom told me she was divorcing my Dad and we weren't going to live together anymore.
I got about three hours sleep last night and had a strange dream with all my friends in it; friends who stopped talking to me. Which, unfortunately for me, pretty much accounts for everyone. It was like no time had passed and there were no spaces between us. Does that make sense?
Sometimes when I come out of a dream, it's instant. Sometimes I'll even bolt upright, practically leaping out of bed with my eyes still closed. When you know you're dreaming, you can condition yourself to do things like that (not that you'd want to). Crashing your house like a loonytoon is not for the faint-hearted.
Other times, coming out of a dream is like fighting a weed with deep roots; you pull, but there's always a piece still stuck in middle earth somewhere. In those instances I have some difficulty distinguishing what's real or imagined. I get a creepy exhilaration out of it. A part of my brain is still programmed to perform like a junkie, and self-inflicted discombobulation fulfills the need.
This morning I awoke with little incident, I rolled over. I tried to examine the way I felt. It was resignation. One more day of putting up with all y'all and your chaotic bullshit. I went outside. Birds were chirping and dawn was coloring the horizon. I decided to climb up on the roof and wait. My mind went blank.
I saw the sun, I felt a little better, I came down.