30 Days of Boredom-Day Twenty-Nine
An Experiment in Writing
By AJ Mars
Sleep. A whore of gross intentions, a needed drug, and lonely friend. If I do not sleep, I am not well, but sleep too much and I am nothing.
Life starts between the sheets and ends with a shroud. The man that was your grandfather is not dead, but peacefully sleeping, only this bed has a door. Grandpa has gone to final sleep and must not be disturbed.
What might we do without the need for sleep? Would we live a life a third more full? Would these stolen hours, if we were to somehow reclaim them, lead us to the unanswered questions of life and love? Perhaps the change in thought brought about by increasing exhaustion is helpful to the mind. The call to sleep is both a challenge and a gentle tug towards relaxation; with dreams inspired thoughts may rise, as also the verge of exhaustion clarifies the mind to the power of the will.
Slumber is a poor lover, but a good friend. I seek eternity in a lover, but simple strength in a friend. I wish to perpetually fall deeper into the embrace of my beloved, and closer to the truth with my friend. Of course I seek truth in and strength in my beloved, but that of friends bears a different mark, a coarser lens, and more rugged grasp.
So, slumber is a poor lover, but only for the living. For the dead she is all that one can ask for, with her sweet-rot kisses, and grave dust touch, she pulls me through the vortex to the Endless Light beyond the Abyss.
