Sleep is a luxury I cannot afford. I like thinking back to the days when I would fall into a slumber that would take me around the world. I would see things I have never seen, experience oddities of nature, pizza made out of Broccoli, transport pipes flying high up in the sky, or even people, reciting dialog from days long past. I would let this confusion engulf and drive me. Being so passive, it was refreshing, and when the light of day eventually brought me back, I would wake up rejuvenated, rested even.
Nowadays, it feels like I am trapped in a nightmare that shifts and changes at random. My nights are empty, devoid of meaning and substance. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and there is nothing there. A white surface, perfectly innocent. I don’t know what it is that I’m expecting to see.
I am supposed to drink a cup of mocha coffee every night, strict orders of my physician. Mocha Coffee. It makes no sense. What is up is down, and people wonder why I can’t sleep. I am stuck, frozen in this world that changes when it’s not supposed to. Staring into the white night, I can feel the weeds tumble. It’s a desert out there, a blank sky that rises and sets. And all I can do is watch.
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You are currently traversing the limitless expanses of Visual Fiction. Each narrative fragment in this collection unravels a memory of a man drawn into an alternate reality. With every piece, he steps deeper into the unknown, attempting to describe the indescribable, to paint the unseen, and to make sense of the senseless. These tales offer glimpses into bizarre worlds that can at times feel both intimately familiar and strangely threatening.
