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
Had been Before he suicided Overdosed on some pills or something like that
He had a few novels to his name and some short story collections
Other than that he only left behind a daughter who several days after his cremation brought her boyfriend to her house and said to him, "Look, since you wanna be a journalist and call yourself a big fan of my dad’s works, I’m gonna give you something to write about tonight. For your magazine. An article about the departed genius."
"Really?" He smiled, expecting her to share some of her father’s unpublished manuscripts or something like that. It would surely aid in his journalist career. Put him ahead of the competition
But she grabbed the urn that contained the great writer’s ashes and said, "Yeah. Look, I’m gonna pour these into the toilet and take a shit over them. You can write about it and take pictures too."
"What?"
"Hey, you don’t meet up with a story like this every day. Take it or leave it."
perched on top of his desk the doctor looked down at him as a teacher would at a failing student
"Say," began the doctor, "are you even trying to stay alive? Or do you seek the quickest death possible that can't be labeled as downright suicide? You smoke all brands of cigars and add up to three and a half packs a day and drink random alcohols you can pick up and keep at it until there's no more in the bottle. Your liver is done for. The lungs beg for death with each tentative of breath. Veins are as rigid as rusty pipes. You don't even have feeling left in the skin. So what's your big idea, pall?"
Despite all his shortcomings in the health department his eyes were as limpid and innocent as a newborn's
He pointed them at the doctor's and said, "Oh, I have many big ideas, doc. Thing is, they're only big in my head. Once they come out and others see them... Well, they just aren't so big no more. Average at best. And that's what I do all day. I get those big ideas out of my head and try to show them to others."
The doctor took off his glasses. Watched him in a new light. "Buddy... did you not understand the question?"
He sighed. "Doc, I think you didn't understand the answer. So let me spell it out for you in your own language." He cleared his throat. "I'm a writer."
The doctor put his glasses back on. "Ooooh, now I get it. Hah, why didn't you say so from the start?"
"That's the problem with us, doc. We never like to admit it up front. Only the young and those who actually made it will say it up front."
"Ooook, in this case... Well, I guess there's nothing I can do for you, nor is there anything that has to be done. For a writer, you're perfectly healthy."
"I know, I know. I just wanted to see if I could get some morphine..."
you can’t unlock the door when there’s a key inside the lock from the other side
right, all you can do now is to plead with your kid to let you in
it’s 12:47 AM and kid’s got school in the morning He’s not asleep because there was no one to tell him to go to sleep There was no one home all day and this late into the night and he’s pissed and very hungry, tired and full of rage
Where have you been all this time, mom?
Indeed, where have you been?
Better leave the answer for tomorrow when the spirits will sizzle a bit less
Until then take off your high heels and the glitter from your face and the semen from your hair and lie down on the doormat and maybe pray yourself to sleep
Daydreaming as a profession 