Hijacked by the snooze button stolen minutes slip into my sleep to feed the dream furnace. Consciousness struggles to surface like a moth trapped in cold molasses. First muttering - then SCREAMING into the hazy space between waking and sleeping - "Wake Up!" subconscious philosopher stubbornly attempts to unify all the random baggage and jack-n-the-box questions, into one patchwork epic. Broadcast at the speed of thought- in full Technicolor and 3-d surround sound. Seeking clarity in the realm of abstraction. Unable to interrupt - the adult self tries to subvert with subtle whispers of: closely persuing clocks ticking in triple time, floating on a sirloin raft through piranha infested waters towards some cold, crushing waterfall grave. Success sees the door open slightly. A single arrow is loosed into the thin rectangle of light. Striking deep and true, "You're LATE!" The panic button neatly impaled bleeds a banshee choir of sirens. Shrieking all systems into action. Dreams evaporate, instantly turned to dust. (only to resettle unnoticed into forgotten corners) Ashamed, the maestro frantically conducts the (somewhat abbreviated) rituals of morning, while thumbing through a well worn book of excuses. Is the **** coffee ready yet?