The Theory of Smelativity (abridged)

4.3.04 It's amazing what sleep deprivation does to the human condition.

I'm utterly lost in myself right now. Not egotistically, not trippingly or anything, just lost, but not lost as in depressed, unregenerate, or a bum on the street, lost as in knowing that every second I linger here I lose that irreplacable comfort of lady Sleep... And we all know how I am her most voiced advocate, and that if myself from half a year ago could confront the me today, who knows what superuniversal destruction of the space and time continuum would occur? I speak of the tragedy of sleep deprivation. Let it all fly to waste.

As the culprit lies in his dormant fix,
As the clock chimes seven and the fan count six,
A fear instilled right to the bone
Begins to play and strike a tone;
The people pass and the children play,
Each Second posing as a passing day,
The figure waits for the opportune,
The chance to release a thing of doom;
The balloons are filled and the turkeys stuffed,
Over the brim runs the nearest cup,
Thickening air and a crowd for sure,
But containment and pain he must endure;
Finally the music starts to play,
The rock band jams in an Irish way,
The moment is come, the cup is flopped
The turkey bursts and dirigibles pop:
Ah, most thunderous roar of bass ever felt,
The source of propagation where malice was dealt,
Impossible to pinpoint for so grande a scale,
The people thought the crevice was a gate to hell;
For a thousand mile fault line tore a-through,
Where the man in black ran off to no one knew,
The vents coughed and sputtered and sulfur filled the air,
And all the people panicked as the crevice belched flares;
The house of cards withstanding the impact of the blast
Had only fifty seconds before wall and floor collapsed
Into ten thousand miles of molten rampage at its core,
This image crazed the masses as they scurried toward the doors;
But as the door for one could scarcely fit even two,
Here a hundred people pressed choking from the fumes,
And as the hopeless ones gave in and lay upon the floor,
Emotions running rampid reaching to some distant shore;
Knowing that the death black carriage waited not far off,
They played a tune that filled the room with visions of a moth,
A moth that flew between the walls and through the souls of men,
Imbedding sweet deceptive lies entrapping in the den;
But lo! a man arose and drew a deep huge breath,
He sucked the filth into his lungs and took what fumes were left,
He picked the molten boulders up and filled the gaping cleft,
And raised his hands up to sky and held the ceiling's breadth;
The people cheered and lost their fear,
They saw the light so amazingly clear,
They formed a line and left the pit
Where Death objected in a raging fit;
They crawled out into light of day,
Their faces glowing as torches frayed,
No word was spoken but of praise
To the man who in his strength had saved;
But before the word could touch their lips,
The tunnel gave way into a sea of mist
A channel of dust scattered amiss,
Stricken as a dead man's grave;
But Death no more had overcome,
The man broke forth into the sun
And once again regained their hearts
Another day saved from a ruthless fart.

Again, again my friends, a tune, a transfixation from your reality into my subreality, which is in actuality my incredibly sleep-deprived mind, which spits out more and more random material than it would if it in fact had sleep. And this translucent state of subliminal neurological active recouping of the physical and mental and social aspects of all-around health, seems to elude me.

Do reindeer really fly? If so, I want to find out if they would suffocate in the stratosphere.

This has been one AMAZINGLY long email. Good night everyone.

The Don Out.