Iguanas and canaries

“ In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody. Nobody is asleep. The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins. The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream”, Lorca - City that does not sleep. The clock has hit 3:33AM, and I am still awake; alone, wary and sleepless, nothing unusual here, normally I would say a prayer and head to bed, turn for few minutes, then force myself to sleep, but this night I won’t.

Tonight I feel like writing down the waves of thoughts striking my mind, as I reach the ultimate self-awareness, and realize that I am a dream-figure in another person's dream, looking back at this collection of movies that I have lived, the roles I have played; the black sheep, the fighter, the anarchist, the poet, the true friend, the lover, the successful business man, the mean guy, the brother and all other characters I fail to remember, all nameless me... all dream-figures in someone else’s dream... main characters in the dreams I have turned into realty, which is passing me by as I now stand still.

I know for a fact that if the 10 years old me sees what I had achieved he would beat the life out of me, not because I failed, but because I have successfully accomplished each goal I had set, boxed my achievements and left them to oblivion... and because I no longer dream.

I now await the iguanas to bite my subconscious awake, as I set in the same coffee house sipping sleeplessness yet not awakening, staring into the void and waiting for an interesting conversation to intrigue a rush of thoughts, stimulating a mental orgasm, an emotional one that might move this dull heart, a scene of a woman walking into the door that would captivate my eyesight, or a song that I might look up once I reach home and repeat for days and days... but I fail... every day I fail to find excitement in entertainment, every day I drive home listening to the saddest instrumentals clearing my mind of the silly social bonds, overheard conversations, commercial music, fake laughter and fake personalities I encounter at that coffee house, while I am in the background of those event, not the other way around.

It truly saddens me, this self-realization, not because it is sad itself, but because I now understand it, now I understand that I have retired from living but not from life, now I understand why I stopped being the random adventurous friend who would suggest playing soccer with a ball set ablaze, the one who would force everyone out of their comfort zone into something more alive... I remember myself telling my friends that I can never be surprised, nor impressed, and now I understand that all this time I have been waiting for someone to surprise me, to impress me for a change, and to be honest I haven’t received anything surprising, not even a gift, a note or even words that would surprise me... or affect me, but that is not why this self-realization saddens me, not even the fact that I am offering others a main dream-figure in my dream, and not because I am no longer dreaming... it saddens me because I understand it now, as Franz Kafka once said “One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die. This life appears unbearable, another unattainable. One is no longer ashamed of wanting to die; one asks to be moved from the old cell, which one hates, to a new one, which one will only in time come to hate. In this there is also a residue of belief that during the move the master will chance to come along the corridor, look at the prisoner and say: "This man is not to be locked up again, He is to come with me.”

With this quote my thoughts break on the rocky shores of my mind, as I light another cigarette and sip more sleeplessness, between thinking of a title for this piece that no one would care about and the a memory of two caged canary birds we once had when one of our birds was beheaded by a crow while the other was watching in another cage, I used to be annoyed by the two birds fighting each in a cage, now the house is a bit quiet, and the remaining bird makes those sad calls whenever someone passes by it, I used to think of freedom and how it's limited every time I look at that bird, now all I can think of is lonesome, loss, broken companionship, brutality of life and death; their short life-spam, their sense of existence, the scientific explanation of my emotions, the logical interpretation of my thoughts and the expression “f**k it!”

Reviews

[Lady Celery]

This is very descriptive and thoughtful, and certainly a relatable 3 AM thought train as well. It's unfortunate that all of the things that we dreamed were going to be so exciting about the future as children turn out to be disappointing... Or, at the least, not as rewarding as we thought they were going to be. Excellent writing!

[TL Boehm]

Ok I read this and laughed at the end...such depth and introspection and then the f bomb at the end - like a book slammed shut. This is the epitome of what 3:33 can do to a mind.

[Coyote Poetry]

When the dreams are gone. What is left?
"I know for a fact that if the 10 years old me sees what I had achieved he would beat the life out of me, not because I failed, but because I have successfully accomplished each goal I had set, boxed my achievements and left them to oblivion... and because I no longer dream."
You left me with a lot to think about. Hard to reflex on a life. It seemed we forget what we were. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote