offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
It is in the small hours when the walls close in and the wires in the brain ignite. The perpetual chatter that remained dormant during the day suddenly begins to crawl and scratch beneath the skull and the idea of sleep can only seem like a dream in itself.
The head hits the pillow and the eyes are squeezed shut but the volume of the ticking clock and the babbling of the brain begin to wage a war. It is 2 a.m. Forehead beaded with sweat, heart rages in the chest, it is too warm, it is too cold, the blanket bears heavy, the skin feels furious and screams are forcibly swallowed.
The days events are picked apart and probed in minute and defined detail. Conversations are replayed and the things you wished you had said are rehearsed. But of course, this only serves to make the heart pound faster and the bed grow more uncomfortable.
It is 3 a.m. legs twitch, the body switches position, it is too hot, it is too cold, blood surges through arteries and through veins, eyes are clamped shut, floodgates of thoughts wreak havoc as they snap across synapses. Memories, ideas, guilt, agendas, birthdays, schedules, things to remember, things to forget, important events, things to do before you die, things not to do before you die.
It is 4 a.m. and you admit defeat. It is too late to have anything that will resemble a 'good night's sleep'. The day starts in three hours and you have only just begun scrutinising the tragedies of your first year in high school in the attempt to pin-point exactly where it all went wrong. There is ringing in your ears from the ticking and the tocking of the clock and you have swore to yourself you will smash it to pieces with a hammer in the morning. If only you could... just... get... to... sleep...
It is 5 a.m. there is birdsong. That is the final call. The siren. The denouement. Daylight begins to flicker through the curtains and the exhaustion hangs heavy in your face and bones. You ask yourself 'what was the point?' and you continue the argument while the chirps breed from branch to branch.
It is 6 a.m. Sleep! Victory! It happened! Finally, the eyeballs have rolled back, the heart is now a gentle thud, the muscles un-wring... 7 a.m. The shrill shriek of the alarm rips you away from that peace. You shrug, 'I slept' you tell yourself.

Something is better than nothing.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Dreams are so strange.

They are these surreal nuggets of time when you escape your daily reality only to be thrown head-first into the deepest, darkest, strangest corners of your mind. All perception of time is lost and any sense of 'real life' has lost any comprehension. All that matters is the series of events that take place in this alternate universe and there never seems to be any structure to what occurs. For once, I would like to fall asleep and the opening credits of my dream start to play out. Let's say something similar to the opening credits of 'Friends'. The other occupants of my dream and myself will fool about and dance around a large water fountain to The Rembrandts 'I'll Be There For You' whilst intercut with moments from other dreams. At least I will know the context.

But no, instead I am suddenly flung into a bizarre situation where I am trapped in a maze made out of barbed wire and Barbie heads whilst being chased by a lizard-like version of my mother. Yes, Freud would have a field day and yes, this is based on a real dream. I am instilled with a terrifying sense of impending doom and my feet seem to have been glued to the concrete. As I try to run away, I am suddenly transported to a whole new scenario; an industrial factory. Conveyor belts run the entire length of the room and there are a dozen workers (that I can only describe as faceless mannequins) tending to some goo and metal that is being moved along the conveyor belts. The mannequin workers appear to be laughing as they plunge their hands into the sticky-slimy-product. Something is hilarious and I find myself laughing too. Then I either wake up or I choose to forget the rest. Blurry fragments of a bizarre brain jigsaw. None of it makes any sense and I awake with a momentary sensation of bewilderment. Sometimes, it takes a little longer to return to reality. The dream has left me vulnerable and confused and as the sensation passes, I mostly forget.

I have heard that everyone in our dreams is actually our self and the content is just the brain's way of processing past events. The whole ritual of falling asleep and allowing your brain to revel in eight hours of prime-time weirdness is fascinating and I wouldn't have it any other way.


offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Not an Oracle

January 2016


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