Insomnia #1691
Do you ever find yourself stalked by the absence of meaning?
Do the days blear together in one familiar circumstance after another, stacking seconds and minutes and hours and years, always with the threat of toppling and always with the sensation you feel as your hand or foot slips on the rung of some slippery cold metal ladder spanning the distance between a lighted balcony and the invisible dark ground below?
Does entropy peek from around the corners late at night, embedded in the brain of some noisome rodent or wild-eyed maniac (you can never tell, for when you move to investigate there is nothing) – are you being watched or merely watching yourself too closely?
What if you are only a reflection of something larger?
Is what surrounds you a similar thing – a shadow or a rippling pond which absorbs traces of you and obscures what you are?
Is there more at work than you can hope to understand, or is it all too simple?
Does it ever end?
How will you know when it does – or if it already has?
Is time relevant anymore?
Are you?
How?
