He'd fall asleep and the darkness that fell around him would manifest as one being that would hold him tight in her embrace and bite at random from his flesh and tear until there'd be nothing left but pure pain
Darkness was the world
And the world was dark because he had labeled it such
Darkness...
Enlightenment then comes when one is able to emerge from the darkness, to leave it behind, to win over it
Or so it is thought
But those who are truly enlightened know better, don't they?
You cannot possibly win a fight
It's just not how it works
Your decision to fight the darkness or anything else is your decision to fight yourself and yourself alone
Thus you lose even if you win
So then how do you truly win in life?
Well, have you ever thought about not fighting in the first place?
To fight with the world, be it the real world or the world of your dreams, is to fight with yourself
Stop hitting yourself in the face!
And maybe start embracing yourself?
Do so with the world
And what do you think?
Will you not find that the world replies with the exact same treatment?
I believe that's what he did in his dream world too The next time the world turned into pure darkness and came to eat him he just offered himself to it instead of trying to run away, hide and fight back
and all they had under the overcast sky was a small boat they shared
The old man would drink from afternoon till morning and sleep all day He wasn’t good for much. Had cancer of the liver and enough kidney stones to add about a newborn’s weight in his core
“So I’m drinking,” he said. “Cuz I wanna bring it earlier. My end.”
“Well,” said the girl. “You’re drinking my money. I work hard for that shit, you know?”
“Shut up,” said the old man. “You’ll have all the money in the world after I’m gone. You can sell the boat and maybe borrow some money and get yourself a small, cozy apartment somewhere.”
“You’re delusional,” said the girl. “With the money this boat’s worth I’ll be lucky to get me a doormat. Used.”
“Don’t be disrespectful now,” said the old man. “I love this here boat like my wife.”
“You never had a wife.”
“Well shit! I love her as if she were my wife, okay? And she’s worth something. She’s worth a lot, I tell you. If you think she won’t be enough to get you started nicely in life, well, you should’ve gotten yourself a husband.”
“I don’t need a fucking husband. I’ll get one after I get out of poverty, not before.”
The old man watched the gray clouds above. It might as well have been grass to his eyes. “Oh, I sure hope to see that day from the other world. You think I’ll have to look up to see it? Or down?”
The girl didn’t answer
“Anyway,” said the old man. “I’m sure it’ll happen one day, my dear. Until then... Keep writing, okay? You’ll come out with the hit eventually. I know I haven’t been of much use to you in this life. But hey, maybe in the next. Maybe, as God reaches with his hand to take me above, I’ll bite off his little finger and spit it on the boat to you. Use it as a pen. See if you’ll write with it a story no eye could ever ignore. I want this for you, my dear. Even if I’ll trade my heaven for it.”
“Oh, you crazy old man.”
“I’m a serious crazy old man. Crazy enough to see heaven in you making it with your writings, dear. Thus, no matter how bad or evil I’ve been I know I’ll be going to heaven. I believe in you.”
She said nothing. Handed him a can of beer and went back to her writing
he downs the second bottle of wine and then curses the beer for not tasting as good
the rectangular desk before him looks round now and his chair grows wheels
all the insects in the apartment crawl under the clock on the wall and spin the hands backwards
lots of things are happening but the story before him doesn’t write itself The paper is still pale the pen still frozen The next word will never come out let alone the next line
He leans back and the demon calls from the other side of the window and tells him to hurry up
“That’s not how writing works,” he whispers back
But he doesn’t know how it works anymore
So he just stands and walks to the window opens it and answers the call
Daydreaming as a profession 