The green linear lines of time state 11:39, and I swam another fifteen minutes in that aquatic blue of fantasies, which merges with the horizon as one huge azure cloud, a fabric flowing on from an earlier cobalt hour. I am both bird and fish as I straddle groggy over a bowl. Urine makes foamy waters, and I am flying, or swimming, away again into drowsiness when the reverie is suddenly snapped by my wet, indigo striped, boxer shorts. Shit! Totally awake now. They’re new, and they were fresh from the cupboard. Stripped, showered, freshened up; the mint of fluoride paste evokes a caffeine crave. Raided the kitchen garbed only in clean undies – cerulean and decorated in a history lesson on timepieces – but gawked at the Star Wars wall-clock instead. Darth Vader, in defence pose, pointed his red light sabre just after twelve, whilst Luke Skywalker’s thrusting blue beam was closer to where three would have been if there were numbers on the plastic guide that dictates the tempo of my life.
What do You think about God Of The Game (Dreamstate)?
