Posts Tagged ‘Sic semper sleepytime’

Vs. Sleep

September 15 2011

As we are all aware, sleep is a pretend construct built to explain what is actually a combination ghost infection and society-wide mass delusion/pan-cultural rite.1 Yet while this is common knowledge, there has yet to be any true concerted effort to fight this oppressive regime. The murderous kleptocracy of sleep, at the altar of which the equivalent of over 2 billion2 people will be taken from us in our lifetimes, must be held culpable.

The following is an excerpt: 10 days from the diary of one very brave individual. A warrior of a kind– not the type with guns and training and impressive self-sacrifice– but a soldier in the war against the tyranny of our own false premises. And in the end, isn’t that just as heroic?3

Come. Let us learn from this shining example:


SATURDAY        August 27

2 to 3 hours slept
Cognitive function: adequate; 2 x 2 = 4; 4 x 4 = 16; 16 x 16 = well I didn’t know that to begin with
Physical function: unremarkable; rode exercise bike 10 miles in 36 minutes.

They eventually got me. : (  Had erected a defense network: entented my bed in pink and blue cellophane Easter basketwrap, as we all know holiday anticipation is their #1 weakness. But, apparently, at some point I started suffocating on it. In a fit of pro-survival panic I must have torn it all down. When I woke up my teeth was lousy with Easter grass. Will try harder tomorrow…
SUNDAY        August 28

5 hours slept
Cog: slightly daffy, but present; think I called Albert’s mom ‘Aunt Miriam’ at some point. (note: I do have an Aunt Miriam, who she does look like)
Phys: fought a couple bouts of jimmy leg, but otherwise inside normal operational parameters

They tricked me. After failure of  Easter basket bed, wore last year’s Hallowe’en costume around house at night. Unfortunately, the video game conference in town rendered my Clyde outfit technically cosplay and therefore non-holiday apparel. Sleep had its way with me and I woke up with my eyes crusted stuck to the inside of Clyde’s blue plastic peepers.


MONDAY        August 29

9 hours slept
Cog: Real good, I guess; ugh 16 x 16 = 256; 256 x 256 = 54,036 (if it’s not right I at least had the reserve confidence to assert that it was without hesitation)
Phys: I accidentally did a double backflip; like two backflips in the time it takes to jump and then land. I mean, I’m pretty sure the accident was the fault of having slept so much…

New tact: pure wallpower. Laid there on my bed, protected only by the power of my own mind, taunting Sleep. Taunt accepted.


TUESDAY        August 30

1 hour slept
Cog: like an intra-office network– generally functional with bouts of extreme slowdown. For an hour or so, vice versa.
Phys: for the first two hours I was awake, could not grip pen to write; some drool.

This time, unplanned, ended up distracting myself to the point where I didn’t even consider Sleep. Started a game of Civ 4 at 9:30. Next noticed the time at 6 in the morning. A rousing success marred only by the meagerness of the victory celebration: spiked mouse, did air six guns, a 360 (well, 1440) running man into a fell asleep on my feet. Awoke still standing up. Didn’t know that that was a thing that could happen. It can!


WEDNESDAY    August 31

net 38 minutes slept
Cog: 7 second delay. The time loss isn’t so bad as much as trying to parse the echoes. Bonus: no cusses.
Phys: a lot of trips and stumbles; 11,000% increase in pratfalls.

Distraction worked so well last time. Thought to do it again but started nodding off in 1-15 second snaps. As in my head would fall and then snap right back. Pressed through, though. Made it through the night having only head-bobbed 217 times.

It is possible, though unproven, that all these head-bobs may have (perhaps) created a lag or skip in my consciousness leading to the 7 second delay experienced throughout the day.


THURSDAY        September 1

0 hours
Cog: 7 second prelay. I can see into the future, but only 7 seconds. Just enough time to feel bad about what is to happen and to gird myself, dodge.
Phys: after adjusting, the smoothest moves this ex has ever laxed.

The problem with distracting yourself is that you know that you are doing it and are therefore hyper-acutely aware of every action you take I tried so hard and became so minutely in tune with every part of every process occurring in my body and in the world around me that – at some point – I ‘flipped the swing’ becoming so undistracted as to first transcend all external stimuli and then ‘swung back’ landing in front of all that happens and now seven seconds in the future I was able to leverage my foreknowledge to effortlessly outstep every molecule of Sleep they had no prayer


FRIDAY        September 2

0 hours
Cog: only produced false memories
Phys: gained powers of flight, an unquenchable thickness.

You guys! I met the most perfect girl. Her name is The Brunette and she also likes the bottom of the sea. I’ve not seen her face, no matter how many times I try to turn her around, but if it matches the rest of her body it must be incredible, delicious.


SATURDAY        September 3

0 hours
Cog: could not distinguish between our thoughts and the thoughts of others; after an hour, notion of Self ceased to have meaning; you see loss of one subjectivity, we see gain of 6+ billion subjectivities.
Phys: acted as instrument of the collective whim; got hit by a car making dinner for a Paraguayan family of eight.

The burner would not light because the stove was actually a stormdrain.


SUNDAY        September 4

Cog: I have mastered the Sleep; I now dream waking.
Phys: upon contact, the Sleep explode, expose their ghosts for my control

I am the Dreamchief. As dreams are the exploding ghosts of Sleep releasing their unborn thoughts, my absolute mastery of Sleep has translated into a corresponding   flawless calligraphy with dreams. My penmanship is unparalleled. To forge your haunted past, to ink your most intimate desires, to … typeset, I. I’m the DREAMchief, not the prose captain. Now kneel before me and I will allow you to make recreational with [Ellen Page] AND let you in-dream finish.

No pre-coital wake-ups, no desperate bids to sleep perchance to return to the exact same dream you were having when you’re pals with the Dreamchief.


THURSDAY        Thursday

Cog: N/A
Phys: Thursday

Where I am it is Thursday Now. Was Thursday now will be Thursday, where I am.



2. 1/3 of your life spent sleeping times over 6 billion lives on Earth
3. Probably not.



September 4 2011

A. If you were a cat or a dog would you chase your own tail?
B. Yes. Obvi.
A. Would you do so consciously or do you think it would be a reflex?
B. Am I a cat or dog in this scenario– like me, the person, right here, in a cat or a dog body?
A. No. Instead of you you are a cat or a dog.
B. Then I have no idea.
A. Why?
B. Because… I’m a human person?
A. Huh.
B. Would you?
A. All the time. To the point where I would be known for it.
B. Known how?
A. On the internet, eventually. But before that by my family who would love me very much.
B. Aw. That sounds like such a sweet time for you.
A. It would be. I mean, I’d die when I was 14. But still– a loving family plus internet validation.
B. I’d certainly take 14 years of that over 78 years of this.
A. Really?
B. Well, probably not. I wouldn’t really be able to appreciate the second part, would I?
A. Would you?
B. No.
A. Yeah. That’s probably true.
B. So would you be chasing your tail consciously?
A. I already said: no it would be just a pure extension of my animality
B. Your animal nature? Or is this like Scorpion turning into a penguin and exploding you?
A. Animal…nality.
B. I think I’ve got it, don’t worry.
A. I’m trying to do personality but for an animal.
B. Yeah.
A. Because they’re not people. Persons.
B. Maybe if you were animal specific it would be
A. Dogonality?
B. Nope.
A. Kittycatpersonality.
B. Closer…
A. Charismeow.
B. Eh
A. Charmeowsma.
B. Ok. I think
A. Catracter
A. Dog…racter.
B. I take it back– 14 years and a loving family would be preferable to this.
A. But you can’t appreciate your fame
B. Don’t care. Don’t care anymore.
A. Hm. I bet, because you don’t care, you probably do get to appreciate it.
B. Yeah?
A. Yeah. Like how in fairy tales times if you didn’t want to be a king than that means you were the best one to be king.
B. Oh, I thought you were commenting about how the drive and desire required in order to achieve fame and adulation and status often– ironically, pathetically– preclude the ability to actually appreciate that fame when achieved.
A. Really?
B. No.
A. Yeah. That would have been uncat-racteristically oblique of me.
B. I love you.
A. I know.
B. *pet*
A. *licks hand and wipes face*
B. Ew.
A. Seriously though, monarchies are fucked up.




A. What would you do if you caught it?
B. Caught what?
A. Your tail.
B. My tail?
A. Yeah.
B. Bite it, probably.
A. Hm.
B. I mean, that’s what cats do at least.
A. What do they do?
B. Grab it in their paws and then bite at it a little and then let it go and carry on as if nothing just happened.
A. WOW. Really?
B. That’s what my cat did at least.
A. Aw.
B. What about you?
A. My dad was allergic.
B. Oh. I’m sorry.
A. Though, now that I think about it
B. Yeah…?
A. When we visit my sister’s house he never has any problems
B. And she has a cat?
A. She has like six.
B. HA. Looks like he was just allergic to your happiness and enjoyment.
A. He even pets them!
B. Or, you know, just didn’t want to deal with a pet.
A. I should call him.
B. That doesn’t sound like fun for me.
A. You don’t have to do anything! ust sit there and listen.
B. Eh, but why not just not bring it up.
A. He lied to me! I could have had a cat! I could have had kittens!!!
B. There’s still time *elbow, wink*
A. … like you want to have children, or I’m supposed to poop out a litter of cats
B. I’ll shut up now
A. Which– by the w– are a different animal than I am.
B. … that would be pretty sweet, though
A. If I gave live birth to cats?
B. Or if instead of pooping, cats came out of there.
A. … What?
B. Like completely instead. Poop doesn’t exist. Everyone just understands that your butthole is where cats come from.
A. … full-grown or
B. Kittens.
A. Hm.
B. And not like the way cats give birth to kittens, where they are all tiny and gooey. But more like a month old kitten. Soft, just walking out of there.
A. Wouldn’t that, not fit? Especially without lubrication
B. Our buttholes would have to be a little bit different. Or, the kittens would be tinier.
A. Tinier?
B. Like three inches long, two inches tall.
A. But would still be the same proportions and development and everything else as a 1 month old kitten?
B. Yessum
A. Huh. So… they’d just walk out?
B. No, well, yes. But we’d have to get our buttholes open wide enough so that they could do so.
A. Like… with our hands?
B. No. The regular way.
A. There is no regular way to do that.
B. I mean like we do when pooping.
A. ugh. Ok. Enough of the p word.
B. Oh, catmeowrsma is fine, but butthole cats are purrsona non grata.
A. Aw. That’s a good one.
B. Yeah… well.
A. Why the butthole?
B. Well they can’t very well come out the mouth.
A. Yeah. That would be a little, chokey.
B. Also all the fur.
A. I hesitate to ask.
B. Yes??
A. After you birth the cat, would there be– fur in there?
B. No. They just walk out. Remember?
A. So they don’t shed while they’re in there? Or
B. Huh. I hadn’t really considered the gestation process.
A. Yeah. Do we have to get rough traughed by boy cats– they’ve got spikes on theirs…
B. No, no, no. It’s spontaneous generation.
A. So Louis Pasteur was wrong the whole time.
B. In this world Louis Pasteur recognizes that his rules apply to all things but this one major exception.
A. This one major-ly adorable exception.
B. Yeah.
A. Also: butt this one.
B. No.
A. Huh. So, you don’t know when its going to happen?
B. It can happen at any time.
A. Doesn’t this mean that a lot of them are going to drown?
B. No. I mean, you can tell the difference between a number two and a number three.
A. ♪One of these things is not like the others♪
B. Though I guess bathrooms would have to be set up differently to accommodate this
A. Or in this world it would be fine for you to just pull out your butthole in the middle of polite company.
B. In no world will it ever be just fine to pull out your butthole in polite company.
A. But I wanna.
B. You don’t even want to talk about ‘the p-word’!
A. But this is different. These buttholes are magic and kitten-filled.
B. … What are we even doing with our lives.
A. Don’t bail. This is important.
B. No it’s not.
A. Ok, it’s not. But come on– say nice things about my butthole.
B. It’s very…
A. Yes?
B. round?
A. Huh.
B. I’m not– are they round?
A. I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I shou
B. Yeah.
A. But I really appreciate you playing along with my butthole compliment character
B. Yes. “Character”
A. Catracter. My butthole compliment catracter.
B. I’m hungry.
A. Me too.



A. *eating* So it has nothing to do with how much you eat?
B. Nope *also eating*
A. I was sort of wishing, like, *sip* if you really went nuts on food you’d wake up the next morning surrounded by li’l baby kit kats.
B. *swallow* That’s not how it works
A. All lovin’ on you, snuggling in your mouth
B. Ew.
A. What? You don’t sometimes wish a li’l kit kat would just crawl into your mouth for li’l kit kat nap.
B. Eugh. What? What have you become.
A. A face incubator for adorableness.
B. These Cats Were In Your Butthole!
A. Oh yeahh… fair point.
B. So how about you d-
A. NO wait– poop doesn’t exist in this world! You SAID that!
B. Oh right… I did.
A. So answer the question.
B. I thought I did.
A. No, the question about having cats in your mouth.
B. Yeah– no. I don’t understand the appeal of that.
A. Then I retract my previous way too much excitement over the poop-less state of the kittens
B. Duly noted.
A. … you didn’t write it down.
B. Why would I?
A. For posterity, for the record.
B. I d
A. OH! For posteriority
B. Cute.
A. I’m such a delight for you.
B. You’re a bucket of roses hung around the neck of a trusty ol’ milkcow.
A. That… I like it.
B. Symbolism plus Utility equals the Perfect Romance.
A. I hope you don’t just like me for my utils.
B. I think by definition I have to.
A. Someday I’ll find a love that transcends economics.
B. Good luck with that.
A. Guh. Say something better.
B. Like what?
A. Something that will make me the happiest one.
B. One wh
A. The happiest one out of all of them. That’ll be me once you say…
B. Well… I guess in this world you would be able to ‘just pull out your butthole at any time’.
A. Really?!
B. I mean, without p– defecationals, there wouldn’t be a filth stigma attached to it. And the kitten thing really helps rehabilitate what is our most hated orifice
A. Sounds like my kind of place.
A. Don’t gloat. Also, rowling.
B. Daaah. Getting close though, right?
A. I would be lying if I said no.
B. Small victories.


in the car

A. So… I guess it’s a good thing that we don’t bleed kittens, then.
B. …Yes?
A. Well you were saying about rehabilitation
B. Go on
A. About how the kittens would redeem the butthole in the eyes of humanity
B. Oh. Right.
A. So if we bl-
B. Hee. Butthole eyes.
A. Gaaah. No. NO.
B. What? You don’t want to live in
A. NO.
B. I’m j-
A. So, if we bled kittens
B. People would have to start being nicer to hemophiliacs.
A. No, but knife murders would probably be much less taboo
B. I can’t imagine that would be the case
A. if when they happened kittens poured out of you?
B. Well you’d still be killing someone. Forever.
A. Yeah. But maybe people would come to not mind so much the trade off.
B. If anything, they’d probably just get sicker of kittens.
A. You can’t get sick of kittens.
B. You can if they only appear every time you get hurt or someone dies.
A. Oh yeah. Maybe.
B. In that world kittens would take on a more sinister
A. Or maybe we’d have a better relationship with death.
B. Because kittens were associated with it?
A. They’d be like furry li’l reapers. Way better look than that scythe, robe and bones nonsense.
B. Well what about the majority of people who die bloodless deaths
A. Hm. That’s true.
B. Would all the kittens harden inside of them. Have to be drained out by
A. No. Your blood isn’t kittens, it just creates them on contact with the air.
B. And what about if you coughed up or sneezed little kitten flecks? Or popped a zit and a pus-covered kitten oozed out?
A. A zitten.
B. And ladies’ lady times…
A. Silver lining?
B. … there’s a pad joke in there somewhere
A. Why not take the high road and completely ignore it?
B. Agreed.
A. I still think it would soften our attitude toward death.
B. Maybe violent deaths. But– no: I just can’t imagine the positive associations would survive that context.
A. Poor kittens.
B. I mean, there would still be people who liked them, like there are fans of crows and vultures, but
A. They would also like fishnet shirts and
B. Yeah.
A. Oh man– YouTubes would be like some kind of death cult.
B. All your goth aunts forwarding you the Bud Dwyer press conference and the one where the cat tackles the baby.
A. Who’s Bud Dwyer?
B. Eh. You’re better off not knowing.
A. You know what? For the first time in history, a person will accept that answer and move on with their life.
B. Wow. I feel so honored. I… I don’t know where to begin.
B. I couldn’t have done this without, well my parents for birthing me
A. *cupped hands* Wooooo. Parents.
B. And, ha, speaking of birthing– butthole kittens, obvi.
A. *cupped hands* ously! It’s obviously
B. Can someone– didn’t expect to get heckled on the biggest night of my life
A. *cupped hands* I apologize! There is just some slack diction that I can’t abide!
B. Well, apology accepted — ha ha heh– it takes a village, right?
A. *cupped hands* Thank you! …Also, what?
B. I’d also like to thank Bud Dwyer for having, well, if I said it now you’d probably have to take this beautiful gol– platinum man away from me!
A. *cupped hands* Yes! Yes we would!
B. And of course, the greatest thanks of all, to the person without whom none of this would be possible.
A. *cupped hands* Aww!
B. The yin to my yang, the Thelma to my Louise, the … cheddar to my cheese, the ice level to my fire level, the pent to my house, the
A. *cupped hands* This is really fucking sweet, but if you could p
B. …the Ma$e to my Puffy Combs, the crab in my cake, the love of my life: MacGyver!
B. We made it, Deanie! We’re finally here and its everything I ever hoped.
A. *cupped hands* I hate you now! I, dah. TEAM MURDOC
B. Wow. What a rush. Now I told myself if I won, I would use my pulpit to address something of great significance
A. *cupped hands* Ugh, really. Come on*
B. I don’t want to take up your time, but– I’ll leave you with this one question
A. *cupped hands* Strings, strings, strings – music noises!
B. Do you think there would still be blue and green and grey butthole eyes?


even laterer


A. Do you think there would still be regular cats in this world
B. Yeah, that’s what the kittens would grow into
A. But, I mean, would adult cats still give birth to kittens the real way, or would all cats be butthole cats
B. Hm. They would probably have to, I guess.
A. Have to?
B. Well I don’t want to destroy the mammalian kingdom
A. That’s, a sticking point I suppose.
B. This isn’t some science hijack. Butthole Cats and Science can co-exist. Hand in hand. For the good of all man. Kind.
A. I suppose in a world in which we all gave butt birth to adorable mini-kittens it would probably be harder to justify going to war.
B. Leesten, I know we hev hed our, how you say, disagreeals but– hold please– ghrhrrrguuuktsssk
A. meeeeow, meow?
B. For thees leettle keetten’s sake, why dun’t we try to work out peeceful sulution?


in bed


A. Would the real cats mate with the butthole cats?
B. Real.. come on. Show some respect.
A. I apologize. The vagina cats. Would the vagina cats mate with the butthole cats.
B. Hm. I
A. Dischord
B. Yeah. I think I may have accidentally wrought havoc on the feline kingdom
A. You know neither mammals or cats are a ‘kingdom’
B. I meant that in the royal sense– the house of Kitten Cat Dior
A. Weird example, but understood. Ish.
B. I would hope they would all get along.
A. I bet they would.
B. And that the … vagina cats wouldn’t resent how we were naturally more affectionate to the butthole cats.
A. Yeah. I bet cats think like that.
B. Hum.
A. All kittened out?
B. Yeah.
A. We can stop talking about them if you want.
B. Ok.
A. I bet there’s something else we can talk about
B. Like what?
A. … well, that was, you know
B. Ohh. The talk part threw me off.
A. Yeah.
B. I don’t actually like MacGyver more than you.
A. I didn’t think you did.
B. Not even a little?
A. No.
B. I mean sure, I love you. But think of the Valentines he could give me
A. A dozen roses made from discarded lighters and candy wraps– but that actually smelled like real roses and never went scentless.
B. A box of chocolates made out of a deactivated grenade
A. And?
B. That’s it.
A. Huh. Impressive.
B. I know!
A. Maybe you should love him more than me.
B. Aw. You were jealous.
A. Not jealous, just really angry that you hypothetically liked someone else more than me.
B. Well MacGyver may know what to do with bar soap, champagne, and a pair of pliers, but he could never handle butthole kittens with your grace and elan and hotness.
A. Yeaah. Say more good things about me at MacGyver’s expense.
B. And those chocolates? The fills were all just gunpowder and fuse bits.
A. What a dumb jerk!
B. He just doesn’t know how to ro-mance me like you do.
A. And he never will until the day he dies.
B. Yeah.
A. “Here lies Angus MacGyver– as talented at the art of improvisatory explosives as he was inept in the ways of human love. What a fucking waste.”
B. Harsh.
A. Thus always to tyrants. Ready to sleep?
B. Sure
A. Thus always to tireds.
B. Sic semper sleepytime.