Muttering Retreats

I am dragging out these ratty old fantasies in a desperate attempt to get some sleep. I've tried writing, I've tried masturbating, I've tried deep breathing, and now I'm wrapping myself up in what are certainly unhealthy, old, familiar thoughts starring characters from my personal life in highly creative situations of impossible intimacy.

I used to craft quite elaborate fictions concerning my objects - don't let's be coy; object - of desire. I specialized in specificity, as I always have. Rehearsal was an integral part of this ritual. Once initially improvised, a scene underwent nightly private drafts, refinements and performances. "From the top!" again and again until I couldn't keep my fantasy eyes open anymore and I succumbed to better dreams.

There is a story (one which takes place in the real world) about how Scott lost all of his fantasies. It is for another time, though. Now, all that remains of these empassioned productions are the manuscripts. Dusty with niglect, they come to mind on a familiarly sleepless night. With a new cast, we could ride a revival all the way to Dreamland!

Or I could masturbate again.