sexdwarf

The only dreamless sleep is life. It is.

I still feel weird, I don't know how to describe it, I just feel, like . . . Life right now feels like tomorrow I won't wake up, I'm not gonna die, I'll still exist, I'll still be thinking, I'll still BE.

Today is my last day on Earth, but I'm not dying tomorrow. Its as if every night I go to sleep knowing that the next day I will wake up from a dream tha is everything around me, but I won't be waking up, cause I am already aware of it then, in the future tomorrow, before it happens later.

I lay my head back on the pillow

I take extra notice of its softness and smell

One of the feathers pokes its way throught the inter-woven fibers and the feeling of it reminds me of when I was young

I look up at my ceiling and see myself, looking at the ceiling

From every angle me silver eyes sparkle as if filled with the hopes and dreams of a child we're all told so much about

Its as I turn my head towards the only window in my room, on the east wall, that I come back to reality

I turn my body 180 to the foot of my bed so I can see the stars in the upper right hand corner of my window

The white-yellow glow of a star that I have determined to have died long ago reminds me that there is no glimmer in my eyes

It brings me to the question I often have asked myself at night, whether my eyes ever shimmered

I look to the dark corner of my window to see myself as I am now

The blue-gray bearings look straight back at me, into my eyes, into my soul

I hard fall onto the stony concrete that is an unfortunate truth shocks me, an even jostle though, half a roll towards the edge of my bed, thena utomatically half a roll back towards center

But for a split second at the edge of my bed, just out side the floor's event horizon, I see another star

I hate the new star

I know it is still burning brightly, but i can't usually see it so it is useless, it serves no purpose

It has life it doesn't need, this new star. It shinesbrighter than the star I watch has ever shown probably, and I hate it

I wash the new star from my memory, and return to watching my ceiling

Its about this time every night that my ceiling opens up to show it's true colors

The void fades in slowly, though quick enough to notice

Clouds, they frame the outside edge of my hole expands across the white canvas first to reveal the white brush splatters that dance for me and only for me

Usually that one story from The Illustrated Man plays out but fast, too fast for most people to notice even until the end

While they float there, in space, and they're contemplating their death I always see the one astronaut killing the other, killing the astronaut who begins to freak out, the guy no one liked from the beginning

Then I think, if I was in an eternal void, without life, but without death, there wouldn't be a lot of floating, or not floating, existing whatever, before I came around to saying, "Man, I coudl really go for a bowl right about now."

And then I'd laugh

And then I am there, now

And then the view pans away in a slow nautilus pattern until the clouds cover the view completely

In the real world the dead star that still burns for me in my window fades and time stops