My home is a shrine to measuring time. Clocks and suchlike things are everywhere. Wayward clocks and meticulously maintained machines, I have them all. But still, there is this piece of me that believes that time matters not.
Since my dreamself became unruly, and my mind misbehaved-neurons firing at inconvenient moments resulting in parasomniac episodes, I have to take these medications that reduce the likelihood of my wandering about by about 95%. The downside is that they also make it difficult to remember my dreams. I soar and fly still, but where and why is gone to me.
Last night the dream that troubles me most came upon me. It sits on my soul like a raven, cruel bill just above my eyes, waiting. Time is gone from me here. Time and timelessness.
My dream extends flat like a line.... ever and always and my moribund body waits futilely for an intersection. On and on and on.
My eyelids fluttered and I struggled to wake up. Get up Pep, get up.
Back I sank into the deepness for centuries. Again my body struggled- get up PEP, get up.
Finally it departed me, leaving a taste of metal and madness. As I left my home and began my workday, the chain of time slipped back on me. Thank God.
