First post in forever
Loosen the wire, your time has expired
The only word left is "goodbye"
In my new dream a light's shining on me
Little needles of sodium unstitch the seams of the sky
Hold your head higher, the heavenly choir
Is settling in for the night
And where I had friends, I am left with loose ends
Four hours of vision exchanged for four hours of fright
~"The Velocity of Saul at the Time of His Conversion" by Okkervil River
There's this recurring thing in Fight Club where the narrator has insomnia, and he feels like a copy, of a copy, of a copy...
I don't think I have insomnia, but I feel like that sometimes. I feel like that right now. It's the worst at night. It makes me want to stay home and watch television comedies until I fall asleep, so I don't risk thinking about anything or going outside. Because if I feel this way and I go out into the night, the night seems so much darker, like that kind of night-dark you only get in dreams, the suffocating kind, the kind that presses in on you from every direction. I expect the sky to suddenly rip open, and a sickly, vomitous orange light to spew out, and that is when I would see that this life is nothing more than a dream, floating out in the middle of nothingness, like when you're playing a computer game and you go out beyond the walls into the infinity and look back in on the world and see that it's just a small blip in the middle of all the nothing that surrounds it. And I would move on up into the next layer of the dream, another world, but that would be fake as well, just another in a series of neverending levels of dreams. Eventually I would die and end up in heaven for eternity, except at the end of eternity even heaven would dissipate and I would move up into the next level of the dream. I would continually pick away at the threads of the dream fabric that surrounds everything, until I had unraveled all that is and all that never existed and ground it to dust under my feet and then inhaled that dust so that all of everything and nothing was inside me and then I would choke and sputter and die, and in doing so cough up all the universes I had inhaled and start everything anew, where I would eventually be reborn and this cycle would repeat itself forever and ever until time's end, at which point I would cease to think and therefore cease to exist and finally be at peace.
Sometimes I wish I were a cat.
The only word left is "goodbye"
In my new dream a light's shining on me
Little needles of sodium unstitch the seams of the sky
Hold your head higher, the heavenly choir
Is settling in for the night
And where I had friends, I am left with loose ends
Four hours of vision exchanged for four hours of fright
~"The Velocity of Saul at the Time of His Conversion" by Okkervil River
There's this recurring thing in Fight Club where the narrator has insomnia, and he feels like a copy, of a copy, of a copy...
I don't think I have insomnia, but I feel like that sometimes. I feel like that right now. It's the worst at night. It makes me want to stay home and watch television comedies until I fall asleep, so I don't risk thinking about anything or going outside. Because if I feel this way and I go out into the night, the night seems so much darker, like that kind of night-dark you only get in dreams, the suffocating kind, the kind that presses in on you from every direction. I expect the sky to suddenly rip open, and a sickly, vomitous orange light to spew out, and that is when I would see that this life is nothing more than a dream, floating out in the middle of nothingness, like when you're playing a computer game and you go out beyond the walls into the infinity and look back in on the world and see that it's just a small blip in the middle of all the nothing that surrounds it. And I would move on up into the next layer of the dream, another world, but that would be fake as well, just another in a series of neverending levels of dreams. Eventually I would die and end up in heaven for eternity, except at the end of eternity even heaven would dissipate and I would move up into the next level of the dream. I would continually pick away at the threads of the dream fabric that surrounds everything, until I had unraveled all that is and all that never existed and ground it to dust under my feet and then inhaled that dust so that all of everything and nothing was inside me and then I would choke and sputter and die, and in doing so cough up all the universes I had inhaled and start everything anew, where I would eventually be reborn and this cycle would repeat itself forever and ever until time's end, at which point I would cease to think and therefore cease to exist and finally be at peace.
Sometimes I wish I were a cat.
posted by Ben at 10:42 PM
