Thursday, 31 January 2013

...slow night and the seven deadly dwarfs

[continued from: Mirror, mirror on the wall...]

...We came to be here through a once open door, greeted with open arms, wiping or feet on a mat we now realize said "well, come". Our families, teachers, idols and peers all taught us that this was the way things were, and the only way things could be. And so, naive and trusting, we came in, to bite into the cursed apple, and sleep.

The seven deadly dwarfs: lusty, greedy, envy, gluttony, sloth, wrath, and pride, were there by our bedside singing hymns and lullabies, they weren't out seeking help. Prince Charming? A fiction, a puppet, or simply a trick. Another staged actor to prevent you thinking 'what's wrong with all of this?'.

Until one day, maybe even while things are seemingly perfect, something still doesn't feel quite right...

Alone and in darkness in a bed soaked in sweat, we awaken and question how we could have wracked up such a debt. Once out of bed and dressed, we venture outside, into a world much the same, yet, quite different than the dreamworld we just left.

The people, the places, the buildings, the things are right where you expect them; apparently the same. The same shared experiences suggest others had the dream too. But those people, are somehow, not the same as you. It feels like when they're speaking sometimes they're actually singing out of key.You shrug it off and go about your routine curious to see 'where does this all lead'?

Interacting and investigating, it becomes obvious it's not them it's you, most do not see or hear things in the same way that you now do. Mirror, mirror calls you crazy and thinks you need pills, so you research and read 'increased thoughts of suicide, and possibly, sudden death': "Mirror, Mirror wants me killed!". That out of key singing's been coming from the mirror as well, though much better practiced and much harder to tell.

You soon begin to realize that dreamworld you knew, is still everywhere, sleepwalking, just as once, were you. Unable to wake anyone, to your dismay, you pretend to be sleepwalking amidst zombies and decay. Conducting research in private in hopes of finding a remedy some day, while the machinations of the dreamworld grow more obvious and ghastly with every step you take. You know that until the dream has ended, you still have to play in it to acquire your basic needs. But, it becomes increasingly difficult to remain silent, lie, and act asleep, so more and more frequently you're reprimanded, outcast, mocked, and teased.

The dream can't collapse until enough people wake, yet the more you shout the more effort shouting seems to take. The zombies are all potential agents meant to safeguard the dream, because there's a witchhunt for 'crazies' it seems. Seeking out other 'crazies', finding some truly are, you consider 'prince charming' and and think: "they've been paid to be crazy as a hindrance, a dead-end, a back-slide, A FARCE". Deterred and detoured, you relearn how to speak to avoid any "spin" contrary to what you mean, and still provide unflawed logic, injecting truth into the dream.

The slow-moving quest to expose the world as dream, has created a panic, pandemic, paranoia, increasing exponentially in speed. The dream-masters know if insomnia should take hold, nobody'd protect them or guard their stockpiles of stolen gold.


[Links to follow, maybe some minor edits as well... Sorry, but, the "wage-slave rat-race" calls and Igor must follow his master.]

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