Insomnia #1743
You double-back on the perversity of existence – the prisoner’s game of solitaire, always hedging your bets against your own misfortune with the knowledge that the last day of your life isn’t going to be the best (are you really trying to bargain your way out of the penurious melancholy of upkeep with some thrill or dream?) – you turn it all back on itself.
You learn to eat the spoils of your labor, the bitter fruits trodden underfoot as you clawed your way up (though only ever slipping) toward something sweet. You learn to feed on your own pain. You’re never hungry, never left for want of sustenance – were you ever it would be a feast all the same.
Experience is language’s proving ground as language is meaning’s coup de grâce – for meaning never was, it can only rend itself, reveal the charade, and slink off the stage in disgrace.
Note: Stop staying up all night at work.
