Pretoria, South Africa

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Sleep is for the dying...

i am addicted to sleep.
i mean, one could argue that everyone is. and could very well be true. I think this, well, what has become an obsession, has Salvador Dali’s painting, Sleep, written all over it. I may have contemplated about the painting a long time ago, especially the time I appreciated it in a new perceptual and conceptual way… ever since then, sleep has been quite an immensely romanticised obsession. a dream in itself. a deam of mindful peace. of clarity. of ambiguity. of life. death. rest and play. a dream of silence. an opiate. an escape.
I don’t remember most of my dreams… and sometimes this has a lot to do with why i love them. every night i go to sleep i look forward to dreaming. doesn’t matter what i dream about. mundane or fantastical, it’s always exciting. not knowing what i am going to experience. not bothered with the outcome. most of all…
getting my mind to shut the fuck up!
finding comfort in the knowledge that every dream and my memory of it is temporary. it is as though I get to live many lives, without them ever getting to complicate each other. i dream of something today, the next time i dream, i start afresh. new slate. no apparent baggage from the last one. like getting a chance at life over and over again. not worrying about eternal failure and pain. knowing that it can stop when i want it to, and letting go of old memories, and really feeling like i am living now and not for the past or future. when i am dreaming, what happened yesterday doesn’t matter and what happens tomorrow doesn’t cross my mind. i could just wake up, and gone is that reality. i don’t have to worry about troubles i come across in dreams. just as i escape this waking life by sleeping… i escape sleep by waking up. but then it gets all messy when i ‘escape’ the good one. dreams i never want to end. feels like what people refer to as ‘dying before my time’. being stripped away from a dream i wanted to keep forever. just like that. and there’s no turning back. it’s all gone. just withering pieces of word information and a great deal of memory of the intangible experience. unexplainable with words.
i just lost words. i can’t continue.

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