Good dreams are always the worst kind

    Good dreams are always the worst kind. When you wake up from a bad dream the world allows you a sense of relief. The sheets twisted around your feet have you safely anchored to the bed, the alarm clock is reassuring you to how much time’s left to spend in bed, and the concrete lack of excitement in the day ahead comes into focus as you wipe the sleep from your eyes. Everything is as it is, and the world hasn’t changed. Wake up from a good dream though, and you’re stuck with the memory; contrasting with reality and how far your world is from your ideal. The sheets twisted around your feet are sucking you under, the alarm clock is reminding you how little time’s left to spend in bed and the concrete lack of excitement in the day ahead comes into focus as you slowly wipe the sleep from your eyes. Everything is how it was, and the world hasn’t changed.

    I remember the first time I kissed a girl. She was young and silly, but then again so was I. We laughed over a game of poker with some friends, pretending to play intently while I simultaneously feigned experience in flirting. The time slipped by blissfully and flowed into the next morning when we agreed to meet at the lake. She asked me though, I was too nervous. So the next morning I met her in the cold air by the lake and we swam in circles underwater, grasping at the fish until the cold water had turned me blue.

    Sitting on the dock we watched the sunrise. The boats were gone and the lake was sleeping. The wood creaking with the swells of the water and the lapping of the waves on the sand behind us saying “Hush, hush” to my chattering bones. And there she was. My arm around her, sitting next to me. The world was here around me and the closeness of it all was incredible. She turned to me and smiled as I closed my eyes. The blood rushed in my ears and all was still. The next day I left for home and I haven't seen her since.

    When I was younger still, I got a telescope for my birthday.  A lens to look at the stars, aiding in my astronomy passion. I brought it outside the first clear night I had that December and stayed frozen to it, holding on for as long as I could. I would crane my neck twisting and stretching my ligaments and vertebra to get closer to the stars. I would cling to the telescope as I drifted through the vastness of space, trying to see what was so far away. My fingers were numb, the world was black and the stars twinkled in the sky saying “Hush, hush. All is still.” When I finally warmed my hands and went to bed I was able to wake the next day knowing the stars would be back soon again.

    I haven’t used my telescope in a while now. Maybe it’s time I dust it off and have another dream.

Night Light

    There’s only one light on in the house now, an old cheap desk lamp that tries it’s best to look like it’s from an IKEA catalog. In it simmers an old halogen bulb that, at one point, gave off a clean bright glow. Now it can only manage to push out a few yellow rays.

    In spite of my inevitable early rise tomorrow morning, I cant seem to find a way to convince myself to slink under the covers and turn it off. I’m really only impatient when patience bores me, this being one of those times. Simply waiting for sleep to come isn’t all that appealing at the moment. Not wanting to wast the moment, I sit here and write about the faux-modernistic lamp with the yellowing light sitting on my desk.

    With no ambient interference, it’s easy to imagine the photons scattered out of the bulb, ricocheting off the walls and falling on my eyes. Like a radar pulse, if I were to turn it off the room would go dark, and I wouldn’t be able to tell that I need to find a better place to put my unopened PALCS computer. Turn it back on and a pulse of photons records the eyesore and promptly informs me.

    You can almost perceive the light, visibility being granted to the room by a dim yellow halo. You can almost see that the nature of the universe, it’s inherent state, is invisibly black, and we need to hold up lights to see what’s around us.

Toy Soldiers

    Currently it’s 12:16 AM September 3rd, but that’s subject to change. I’m practicing one of my most honed skills right now in the dead of night – procrastinating. I’m putting off sleeping because I want to watch anime, I’m putting of choosing a new anime to watch because... Well, a million excuses can be made to creatively place the fact that I don’t want to.

    Procrastination: the art of not wanting to do anything. Why not write tomorrows blog post? I’ve had some ideas churning through my head recently and I feel that if I don’t dump them out like a plate of leftover spaghetti spilled on the floor, I’ll... Actually I’m not entirely sure what happens at this point in the analogy. Hopefully, the ensuing tangled and noodly mess will be interesting to look at to say the least.

    Imagine children playing with toy soldiers. In their heads they concoct grandiose plans of domination and conquest. Glory for the sandbox they call the motherland is to be won. And they line them up, toy soldiers, row by row, bent scuffed and tangled. In their eyes though, a flawless army. The lines are drawn, the rules agreed upon and the battle begins. Little green men march in, broken green pieces flow out.

    From up high, everything looks like toys – little toy people. From afar, people act like children. Children playing a game with little toy soldiers. What would the war be like  should the toys be lost? If the soldiers stayed inside that day, called in sick, didn’t show up for work; who would be paid to die?

    Imagine soldiers sitting at home, drinking coco, while the children look for toys to fight a war.