The black cat was the last remnant of the night, in the serene moments of the silver grey morning. An ambassador of hours wasted and the forgotten and the lost.
Now grant me a journey to Slumberland, so I may forget about the problems of the present and replace them with different ones, stranger ones, and forget about those too, once I awake again. For everyone has two lifes, one in their sleep, one in their waking hours. These lifes are equal, but follow different rules. Rules we can never comprehend both at the same time, for they contradict each other. The universe is not order and beauty, it is contradiction and complication.
In 2006, actor Stephen Fry received a letter from a girl struggling with depression. This was his response.
This man is my guide. *bows*
Why do we exist, you ask. Because Time needs a reason to continue. We exist solely for Time’s enjoyment. We disappear when Time gets bored with us.
Time is the greatest of the first gods. It is the one we keep forgetting, and the one that never leaves. Time is part of all the other gods we believe in. Time is the reason we exist, and the reason we die. Time is decay and bloom.
Close your eyes and wait. Stop walking. Time will go on. It will sweep over you like a storm of dust in empty space. You can leave Time and when you do, when you truly do, Time will leave you too. Time has no interest in those who do not make Time’s time worthwhile.
Time is bored and sadistic. The more you reject it, the more it clings to you. But Time is powerful. It can lift you to the skies and make you of Orion’s left eye.
Do not disappoint Time.
I’m not where I want to be. The earth under my feet pierces through the sole of my shoes. An ill-fitting shoe it is too. They are too tight around my toes and too loose around my ankles. My blistered feet do not want to walk.
I want to go back in time, back to when people still wore the minds of others. Where everyone was a shape-shifter.
I cannot be the last who remembers.
They say I am looking for a castle in the sky, that I can never reach it But I know I can still grow wings.
It’s stories that keep me whole, and the story that is most important to me right now is Peter Milligan’s run on Shade The Changing Man. I can not even begin to express what it means to me. It is close to my heart like a good friend, a friend who understands. Funny how one can relate to a story about a half mad poet from another planet.
Funny how it looks like pure imagination and fantasy to some people, but is painfully serious and true to others.
Books, art, it is all communication, communication with people you’ll never meet, but who need you nevertheless.
I must run, for the holy lasers are already pointing at me. I must keep my insanity. Everything might be better without it, but… no. No it won’t. There’s parts of my mind already missing, and it is painful. I know I could know, but I can never be sure, never really remember.
I’ll never know why I too shed a tear at dawn.
I want to tell you about nights. Not about darkness, about nights.
There’s something about nights that changes everything. There’s something about them that lights things you tend to forget. There is pain in nights, the pain of realisation. There is the inevitability of death and the foreboding of wounds in the future. The night knows this too, she cries with a million tears of dead light. Those tears tell you stories, they whisper too you, if you only listen. They tell you of things that do not matter anymore, but still are important. Take their pain and their joy. They are yours now. And as their ancient light touches you, you know there is a light you send out to them too.
And there will be someone, somewhere, shedding a tear at dawn and the fading stars that you are now part of.