Sleep is neither a luxury nor intermittent pleasure, but it is a hot commodity around these parts, if only for the purpose of entertaining dreams; mostly of the Martin Luther King, Jr. variety but also, upon occasion, those of a structural nature. These dreams restore order to a mind addled by the absurdity of our world or, even better, to restore it. I had one such dream the other morning.
There was a vast field of shiny, emerald grass imported from god knows where (because everything's imported there) on the sunniest of sunny days (because it's always sunny there) surrounded on three sides by the walls of a swanky private school funded by those funded by salaries unwarranted. Beyond the final side of the field was an endless desert half-populated by half-abandoned skyscrapers, the green separated from the gold by nothing more than a narrow strip of concrete and chain-link fence. It was beautiful in the way individuals with no taste declare things beautiful, ideal for those with no discernible ideals or genuine ideas, for that matter.
It was upon this lush field I stood, raking insanely healthy grass with one of those bow rakes better utilized to loosen dirt or perhaps maintain a zen garden. Despite it being an inappropriate tool for an absurdly superfluous task, I kept working while all around me, elementary aged students and way-too-old-for-this-shit teachers alike engaged in some dumbass rendition of everyone's favorite academic pursuit, Sports Day, replete with such classic activities as tug-of-war, long jump, plastic javelin toss, bean bag toss, and a veritable cornucopia of races. Sack, egg and spoon, wheelbarrow, three-legged, dash, relay: you name it, they did it, all designed to allow everyone to be a winner or sorts because to do otherwise would have shattered the illusion that each and every child is something less than a winner at everything. The teachers, still dressed, albeit clownishly in their normal, formal attire gleefully participated in the festivities, the nearest in proximity being a pasty faced, doe-eyed galoot frog hopping toward the designated finish line by which I stood.
It was an amusing sight, this full-grown man clumsily leaping in my direction, his tie jumping in tandem. Equally laughable was in how not only the children, but the adults cheered him on so readily and with such frenzied passion. I should mention that these individuals were detailed simulacra of actual, known people but that's beside the point, so I kept on raking till the gentleman crossed the finish line and amidst the roar of the crowd, I slammed the rake into the man's face and neck. I should have mentioned that the teeth of the rake had been filed to the extent of being jagged and exceptionally, if not impossibly sharp but that's merely academic at this point, given that the teeth had become lodged in the buffoon's eye socket, jaw, and throat; though not for long, as I forcibly removed the rake (alongside a good portion of the man's decimated face) shortly thereafter - much to the chagrin of his audience, of course. From off in the distance, Jared Leto shouted everybody run now, everybody run now, everybody run! but when the time comes, people rarely do.
On second thought, this really was a dream of the MLK variety.