My Tomb at Night

When we sleep we are not dead, nor are we truly alive. And I despise it.

To close my eyes each night and lose myself to the world as it continues on, going about its business without me, is a loss I cannot abide. Yet I have no choice. Our internal mechanics decree that without sleep, we cannot function as we should. Without these long hours lost to the dark din of senseless slumber, we simply will not be as we should be. It is known that the ‘typical’ person, one who gets roughly the necessary amount of sleep that the average person requires, will have slept for a quarter of a century by the time they turn seventy-five. A quarter of a century. That is twenty-five years of a life lost to chasing shadows in the night as our minds wander beyond sense and reason into a world nigh unfathomable to even the most logical minds.

Why?

Why must I strive to make the most of each and every day only to have to surrender myself to the forces of nature? The dolphin can get by with only allowing half of itself to sleep each day. The bullfrog can go for months at a time without it. Yet we must capitulate. If I were to stand tall and attempt to defy my natural state of being, my strength would fade, my mind would crumble and I would eventually come to embody the guise of someone bereft of life. A husk of a man devoid of spark. He who wanders the world holding his lantern low, dimly lit with a quiet wisp of candlelight. Without sleep we forfeit our capability, our sanity and even our lives.

There are many who welcome the rest. They who see their beds as a cradle of comfort, a chance to switch off and give in. To let the shroud of nightly dreams claim their minds each and every passing of the moon as they drift into worlds both strange and familiar. Their beds become their nests. An enticing embrace of warmth and wellbeing to close out the day. To me though, it is a tomb. Not of cold stones or lifeless bones but a tomb nonetheless. Each night I lie, motionless in the dark, waiting as my mind wanders pathways not chosen by me. Waiting for the sun to greet us all each morning, to ‘grace’ me with the permission to rise once more, to walk the world anew.

What do you dream of? I dream of never dreaming for my dreams offer me nothing, yet my waking thoughts give me everything.

I know that I need to sleep but I do not want it. Now or ever. It gives us our rest, at least when blessed enough to maintain it sufficiently, but it is also a loss of time, a loss of life. My time. My life. I am no longer a child gifted with countless years to come, able to waste my days in blissful ignorance of purpose. I am a man now and I desire to command my time as I see fit. My time, my life, has more meaning than that younger version of me could ever comprehend. He knew little of his resolve, his intent, and he had time to burn. I now know my purpose. I now know my desires, and I want my nightly hours, enshrouded in my wasteful tomb, for me.

Give back to me that which is taken. Give me the chance to trade away this need for sleep in exchange for a life truly fulfilled. There is no eternity for man or woman. Only the burning embers of a candle that grows dimmer each year.

I despise sleep. And it despises me. I will sleep when I die. Only then will I truly rest in peace.

Forged from Reverie.

There Is A Tomorrow

We are each of us tested from one day to the next. Sometimes small battles, sometimes larger wars, but our hearts, bodies and minds are capable of withstanding the barrage of life’s many sorrows.

If you falter one day, there is a tomorrow. If you are wronged in some way, there is a tomorrow. If you cannot stand the thoughts raging in the maelstrom of your ruminations, if the demons taunting you with bitter words refuse to relent this day then close your eyes and go to sleep. You can start again tomorrow.

Don’t be ruled by the shadows in your mind. Cast aside the ghosts of resentment, of self doubt and of self loathing. Don’t let your yesterday determine your tomorrow. Give yourself the time and the opportunity to begin again.

Withstand the storm, stay strong and use that dark day to make yourself someone more experienced, someone more capable, a person of great worth, potential, determination and strength.

Be stronger than the person you were the day before. Be greater than the person you were the day before. Allow yourself to become a better you.

All that stands in the way of becoming this person, is you.

Forged From Reverie.

A Man and his Pug: Volume 6

I have already mentioned how I wish life had a pause button in a previous post on the Forge. This is a sentiment that became more poignant recently as our little Pug, Oghren, turned four the other day and all I wanted to do in response to this realisation was to grab a hold of Father Time and keep kicking him square in the bollocks (testicles for my non British audience) until he realised that I don’t want him to age my hound any further. Do you hear me you relentless old git! Stop aging my dog you beard twiddling, death peddling fear monger! Have you considered that some of us don’t like seeing the effects of times passing on creatures we love and adore……….…you prick!

Puppy Pog 1 Image

An early image of our puppy dog we came to name Oghren. Prince of the Pugs, Lord of all Treats, Wielder of the Ceaseless Tongue and King of Fluff!

Apologies to those of a sensitive disposition, it’s a troubling matter to have such a beloved creature slowly mature as time continues forth on its ceaseless trajectory to its inevitable conclusion.

Puppy Pog 4 Image

Oghren lounging and sleeping within his first ever bed. It didn’t take long for him to fill it out, so rotund that he became.

Anyway, every time this particular milestone comes around it leads me down a path of memories that has me reminiscing of the fleeting and ‘oh so quickly did they come and go’ days of his puppyhood. Bold of heart and riddled with ecstatic energy was our tiny Pug as he would gallop around looking for various things to nibble on in his jubilantly playful manner. Toys, puppy friendly chew things, his own arse if he could reach it (quite the impossibility now), the odd finger or toe when the opportunity presented itself. Nothing was really out of bounds for the froth laden foolishness of the explorative tongue led treks of our curious little Pog (he’s a Pug named Oghren, so we call him Pog).

Oghren 14

Posing for one the first of what would become countless pictures taken by my fiance. Trapped in photographic time like an adorable little Pug time capsule. A Pugsule!

I think my most treasured memories of this time in his early life were that he wasn’t quite big enough to jump up to us on the sofa yet. Try as he might he just was not able to scale the sofa mountain to get to the peak of warm and snuggly lap comforts and the fingers of frivolity and plentiful fuss. He would need us to ‘assist’ him and he would bellow a little cry if he could not get our attention. It’s no problem for him now as he just freely gallivants about and plops his chunky butt down wherever he damn well pleases, but I do miss these days a little when he was a touch more reliant upon us to achieve these heights of domestic dog bliss.

Puppy Pog 9 Image

Aah, so much bliss! Or the slow transformation into Zombie Pog, he does like to nibble.

He was clumsier too, adorably so. Most puppies are daft enough (life hasn’t taught them to respect gravity yet) and when given the freedom to move around and explore, they will often get themselves stuck or will have succumbed to the harshness of ‘the tumble’ in their ill-advised attempts to find out why something is somewhere or what something that they have never tasted before tastes like.

Floor! It tastes like dirt, dust and floor you inquisitive little bugger!

Puppy Pog 10 Image

“It might be dirt, or it might be treat? I won’t know unless I lick it first!”

Oghren was certainly no different. He once rolled off of the bottom of our staircase when descending the two steps he actually managed to climb up. He was completely fine but I couldn’t stop giggling at the thought of him rolling into the front door as his momentum would not relent. Needless to say his many exploits and the results to come after would usually leave him perplexed. To this day he can only ascend stairs; never again will he go down them.

Puppy Pog 13 Image

And here we have the malicious mauling of the fox toy by the teeth and claws of such a dominant creature. You will likely never see a more fearsome hound in your life. Look at that RAGE!

When playing with me and the extravaganza that is ‘daddy hands’ he used to do little back flips and somersaults. Cute as fuck! It’s also an image that can be a struggle to wrap your mind around as Pugs are notoriously rotund. Such acts of careless whimsy are now beyond him, sadly, thanks to his body adapting to the usual levels of Pug girth that comes with dogulthood (that’s a word now).

No doubt I will be thinking the same again next year and the year after. He’s still a rambunctious little numpty but he does have a lot more of his sleepy time these days. Oh, the life of a modern Pug.

Puppy Pog 5 Image

This is one of our favourite ever images of the Pog.

Please take care of yourselves and cherish your hound’s folks for they grow up far too quickly for my liking. And if you see that time wielding tit that is Father Time, you know what to do. Right in the nut sack!!

Puppy Pog 8 Image

He used to be able to lie across my arm with ease.

Close Up Pog Image

Oghren as he was, to who he is now. A lazy, adorable lump of fur and fluff that still gets giddy at the prospect of ‘dinner’. Lap time!

Forged From Reverie.