The Faux Pas Press #120
Sleeping
By Jason Fresh
12 December 2011
There must be something happening here. I'm a tortured soul, living in a tortured world of garbage's loss. All my life I've experienced dreams of flying - all my life moving through a flax, hairy infrastructure that pulsates electronic signals like analog spirits shifting from cognisance into creative inception. All my life I've either been out of my body or out of my mind. I'm sleeping but I am awake, excited about dreams that are remarkably close to a lucid manifestation of something disgustingly real, detailed, and physical. The are so many thrills in that dream. Thrills can become the pit in a stomach where I can dream really fast, faster than I've ever thought possible. But I'm sleeping.
You know when you go to sleep, you are transiting from frequency to frequency - hoping across electromagnetic energy, preparing to wake up and sleep again, sleep in numbness, sleep in hostile visages of something you thought you might experience, sleep in the wake of waking life. You are banking and turning like a commericial jet liner. As you move through the air, objects below shift toward you in perfection or a mocking cackle at your mastery of the speed of light. And now, you can do anything you please. But you're sleeping.
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