This was written some days ago, somewhat inspired, so noted in my ever handy hangphone immediately. When more appropriate to blog? Then the day before I see Neil Gaiman in person.

~~~~~

It is one of those days.

One of those where I stumbled between wakefulness and sleepiness.

Couldn't remember the time that passed, nor the times in-between.

The moments I successfully stole away from Sleep, I caught a glimpse of time, but soon after I was caught by Sleep again. And the next time I managed to execute the same runaway trick, I tried, again, to catch the time, hoping to note how much has passed me by. Only, to realize I couldn't even remember what the last time was, the one I was supposed to remember after a glimpse. Sleep caught me again.

In-between these moments, in-between two worlds I staggered, a ping pong game between Sleep and Wake. Couldn't make out which is recalled fantasy, and which is recalled reality, just a whirlwind of mixed memories.

Dreamless sleeps and notionless wakings, it almost seemed that the mind was too dull to work, too slow to register, too tired to rebel.

And I'm glad for window panes, the only true reflection of time and sanity. The only proof that time has passed. As the Day pass by and Night takes over, the panes switches from window to mirror, because the light changes from being brighter outside to being brighter inside the building. If you could look into a window pane the whole day, you would see your reflection forming, slowly, as Day runs out.


Gods of the past, the ancient, the natural has won the battle. Against Gods of the present, the new, the digital.

As his chariot rides across the sky, I can almost hear Apollo sniggering at my blue G-shock.