a little prose poetry…

…or is it short fiction? Or is it fiction at all? Even I don’t know.

Manifesto of an insomniac

If you close your eyes tightly, you will perhaps see exactly what I see when I sleep.  Presumably, the inside of your eyelids are very similar to mine.  This is probably a good thing.  If we closed our eyes at night and were faced with completely unique visions of the blood rushing through our skin and could see reflections of our irises on wondrous eyelids made of mirrored panels, we would never get very much sleep.  We would be too preoccupied with the fascinating uniqueness of our own being.  I am convinced that this is always why we paint our ceilings white – so that if we wake up in the night and accidentally open our eyes, we will not be met with a ceiling that is out of the ordinary.  Whitewashed ceilings help to maintain mental sedation, I think.  Imagine what would happen if we let our children climb on ladders with crayola washable markers and scrawl all over the pristine surface.  We would wake up to monsters with a hundred legs and five sided kites and giraffes with crooked necks and nonsense words written with shockingly sure marker strokes.  We would never dream again, staring at that ceiling.  And we would try to close our mirrored eyelids and that wouldn’t help.  The whole world would be sleep deprived and full of color, and surely we would all go insane.


One Response

  1. I love the idea of monster-scrawled ceilings. Beautiful thoughts.

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