Geometer of Sleep

March 7th, 2014

Doubling of dreams – one for the night, another – for the future. Keeping oneself sane by risking to know the borders of madness. Dozen, or so, modes of truth exceeded by ways it is said.
Skies falling as they ever were, making sure the trade of beds stays in constant busyness.
Count not the times of night you found yourself wake, just having escaped becoming somebody’s eyes. There is no set of all possible dreams, each withering away at its own pace.
Car crashes, fatal wounds, worms forgotten behind. Till blindness.
You’re nobody’s vision, don’t kid yourself, even less one of God.
Dreams are like petrol for bicycles – burning them down. Going out in flames, the precise frame left to meditate on.
Best done this while lying horizontally.

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