Feeling the turn from inaction to action I have felt from my the overspilling of unsolved problem into the necessity of sorting them I decide to make my way off the couch into a specific door that is black with luminescent spray paint on it.

It reads “Sleep” everywhere in different hues in unneat writing style, as if neglectful hands slapped it on there without caring. That “last” thing you need, because isn’t “being awake” worth more?

Are we wasting time sleeping or being engaged in any derivative that likens the state?

Regardless, I enter as if it were the solution I have been waiting for my entire life, even though my previous discreditations of the passive entertainment to the tired body is something I do not cherish enough.

It is as though the process is unrewarding – I sleep to dream, and not to be passive. To boot, this never ending construct, with its dreamy feel has skewed my experience of the act to degrees of where I undervalue the commitment to relieving this engine of traversement through planes of its “physical” troubles.

I have so many dreams and it feels like playing the lotto when I finally lay myself to supposed rest, only to wake up in yet something else that feels unreal and sometimes even turns out to be a nightmare.

Finishing perceptions of pre-emptive judgement and expectations I reach the garden within a giant spaceship – so many live here and I feel at home in space. But beyond the fauna the silver lining of the ship is barely seen.

This area is dedicated to replenishment and the savior of what quintessential nature is savable from planets in a combination of lustrous plants that bode well in this nestled pocket of the luxurious getaway.

Underneath a massive delicious monster the colonies shaman hides from contact, yet I speak to him for a few minutes – explaining my ailments among small talk, of which I learn that this yaught is dedicated to science and the collection of factual and unevadable knowledge that we cannot live without accepting. A somewhat attempt to find derivatives that cultures live by.

It seems to be a philosophy he cold talk about forever, yet he notices that my physical state is causing me discomfort and is impairing my ability to listen for much longer and hands me a dose of something that should give me a near comatose sleep along with a soothing tipla.

I am advised to go to the rejuvenation chambers and have my much needed rest.

As I am diagnosed upon arrival by kind people, my state is declared dire. The matron gives me a hard talk on self-preservation and I am “shooed” into one of the beds and hooked up to mind wave monitors.

I ask if I can smoke the tipla somewhere and they take me off immediate analysis and suggest the sitting area where everyone seems to calm down around me as the red burning leaves simmer in smoke.

Getting into that sleepy feel, I get escourted into my bed once again and nothings the same as figments beyond my understanding start to swirl in my mind and deep sleep takes over.