Consciousness

A Story by Writingfox

Go to sleep. This is what replays over and over. My eyes are aching, sore, and tired, but my mind is as active as my innocent childhood. I know I must sleep. I know tomorrow I will need energy. But my mind refuses to rest.

Go to sleep. I desire the calm release, the kiss of unconsciousness that is restful abandon. Yet my mind refuses to give in. This is a sweet precious blessing, this mind of mine. Yet it may one day drive my body mad, if I am not already so predisposed. Is it madness to believe one is sane? Or is it mad to believe there is no such state as sanity? I am reminded of the stream of consciousness writings and writers of the twentieth century, art at a level unto itself. Some say those individuals I so admire and regard as my kindred folk were nothing more than fools, imbeciles, mad ones. Yet they are the mere tip of my inspiration. I long to let my thoughts flow out into air. Mere air. Alas my mind wanders. But this is good. This is the sweet release my mind will not allow my body, reserving catharsis for its own self. I have found you. Hello.