But sleep never satisfies for long. I find myself dreaming more and more, vivid, frightful dreams as real as being awake but with less control,
movies play through my mind mirroring the day In some ****** up way,
and just like that, Like a drug, sleep loses its ability to provide escape because of tolerance.
I watch a snail move slowly across the flagstone. I lose track of how long I've been watching. Only the thin line of spit beneath my pillow lets me know it was a dream.
Without escape There is no reward, No rejuvenation only confusion, and that which is easy is not.
But this quest has opened my eyes in more ways than just lack of sleep.
My quad-polar discovery has helped me identify these quadrants of my mind.
God. Beast.
***. Love.
My quad-polar compartments. Confused and bewildered they will not be merged.
The god in me thinks the beast needs to be loved. The beast in me thinks that *** is a god. The *** in me thinks that love kills the beast. The love in me thinks the beast is just ***.
It’s the love I am most afraid of, At least during those times when there is a me, a me that looks down on the quads, but mostly that’s rare because I never know who’s in charge anymore.
It's such a difficult existence when what’s theoretically my greatest need is also my greatest fear.
If I consider this logically then the conclusion is clear,
that is, my dedicated inlets and my spiritual outlets cannot get along.
*** and love do not co-exist.
At least not in me.
I’m either penetrating inlets and ignoring outlets or seeking mysticism while the inlets go on wanting.
I have known this for a very long time.
Maybe if I find a new island I could find a new inlet,