no idea. sleep disrupted by itching. is it hell, calling for my soul, twenty years after i should have died? have enough former loves passed on to the other side, calling now for me to join them?
is it time to shut off the simulation? two weeks ago, when Syria was being bombed to oblivion, I woke, in the early morning, thinking the sky had become an intricate, intense web of lightning... perhaps we were bombed back, by a belligerent Russia, and that parallel timeline now wallows in the dust and snow of a nuclear winter.
perhaps, when I swallowed all those pills, or when I bounced off two different windshields.... perhaps those near death experiences shift the simulation, shift the perspective, shift the timelines. madness, yes, fueled by media fiction...
but... am i not an agent of some god, cognizant enough to feed the hive mind random theories and threadbare connections? who am i to deny that something larger than i acts through me?
i'm afraid to attempt sleep again. i'm afraid to let time pass.
i do not like when my head keeps me awake, with all these nerves begging for attention. i do not like writing in a vacuum.
still, "tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow..." plod along into another day, and try to shed the false lives.....
(I can hear some, calling "nonsense!" at all this...)
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