Sleep

ALONG the field as we came by
A year ago, my love and I,
The aspen over stile and stone
Was talking to itself alone.
‘Oh who are these that kiss and pass?
A country lover and his lass;
Two lovers looking to be wed;
And time shall put them both to bed,
But she shall lie with earth above,
And he beside another love.’

And sure enough beneath the tree
There walks another love with me,
And overhead the aspen heaves
Its rainy-sounding silver leaves;
And I spell nothing in their stir,
But now perhaps they speak to her,
And plain for her to understand
They talk about a time at hand
When I shall sleep with clover clad,
And she beside another lad.

A.E.Housman

To sleep enough is very important. Scientific studies have proven that people that just sleep 6 hours have just 80% of the energy they get when sleeping 8 hours. And just sleeping 4 hours result in 60% energy.

But after all this seems to be a fair compromise.

and she only sleeps when it's raining ...

One time I didn't sleep for 4 days. I swear to god, the dishwasher was talking to me.

I like sleep. Sleep is simply an alternate way of knowing, of perceiving. The dreaming brain creates reality from nothingness. Life is a consenual dream.

when I'm asleep, I feel beautiful. and that's the only time. my lover said, now I know why you spend so much time in bed, I'll stop nagging you about it

Is sleep an oblivion which takes me when I lay down in my grave? And in the morning the miracle is that I wake to the same dream.

The important thing about sleep is that I dream. To sleep, perchance to dream. The clearest non-nightmare dream image I have right now, is being chased by guerilla warriors through a mountain spring surrounded with pure white snow, wearing a long white wedding dress. The most important part of the image, is that the water is completely clear and utterly cold, but I'm not cold. Also that the dress is sleeveless, and I normally hate sleeveless dresses. Why would I choose to be married in a style of dress I don't like?

Under thick blankets, monsters wait.

Tossing, turning hoping for consciousness to dissolve. Liquid memories merge with pools of the first hints of dreams