To give a little bit of context for this diatribe that’s about to unfurl in front of your eyes like a giant sail and then fly away from your puny existence, mothman is my greatest enemy. He is a villain of gigantic proportions and legendary aplomb. In fact, if Mothman wasn’t such a no-good loser and terrible person, we’d probably be homies that share porn links. But that doesn’t matter right now.

Maybe all I should have said is that I’m a defenseless little baby with absolutely zero issue with hyperbolizing, catastrophizing, minimizing, intellectualizing and then pathologizing, and finally oversharing my vivid delusions down to the last, fickle piece of orzo on the coke spoon.

While me and the homies were trying to figure out if we could go into torpor properly, I was eating a nutrigrain bar and balancing my entire consciousness on the predicament of trying to get soporific with my bros. See, these are the people I trust entirely to be somnolent. I am so lucky that I have this sleepy man yatra with me as we cuddle and eskimo kiss in this massive dreamy state of fugue and vague symbology I call life.

But no further had I gotten than hypnagogia, when I was ripped from my effervescent and comfortable bed by mothman. Right in front of my eyes dangled the pendulum of lost time, as it squirmed, that loose hour boiling. And right in front of me mothman booked it from my windowsill, disappearing into the great big city in front of us. Out there, he could be anyone. It is a great city. It is a big city. In this great big city so great and big mothman could be any one of us. I really want to emphasize how big and great the city is. So big and great. One could easily get lost in the crowd in such a big and great city. Such a big and great city is conducive to extensive anecdotes about how great and big the city is. 

But before he left, Mothman released a laugh so maniacal and terrifying, my goosebumps inverted. Holding the hour in his hand, he stated (in no uncertain terms) that he was going to return to the council of daylight savings time. There, he said, they were going to sacrifice this hour and drink its blood. Having destroyed my restfulness and aligned himself with the canon of my insomnia and stress, Mothman popped out into the great big city, disappearing into the crowd with my hour. I was left to brood and contemplate with the homies, pondering my oafish and quixotic existence, muttering to myself and my bros about my disgust and anger at myself. My homies cheered me up, but still the wound was deep and fresh, as I felt a deep disturbance about how I could have just let this happen during our sleepy time bash. I roiled in agony, knowing that the homies and I could have been snug as bugs in rugs–if only I had taken the proper precautions

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