[ WP ] Humans have discovered the `` cure '' for sleep .

Ubiquity. 
 
 
 And nothingness. 
 
 
 This cure. This thing. This existence. 
 
 
 Reality surrounds me. It conquers and divides my soul. 
 
 Intoxication is expensive and futile. There is no `` out'', only `` In'' the moment. And the moments are endless. Incessant and demanding. All input and output, no process. Sensory deprivation is fleeting and unsustainable. 
 
 
 I am in Hell, if Hell had never before existed. 
 
 
 I would choose death, but rumor is that there is `` cure'' for that, as well. Cremation? Transmutable desperation. 
 
 
 I stare at anything for hours. A perfect insomnia. Efficient mind and body. Spirit? A life without fatigue. A life indeed. Nothing but life, but not really living. Existing. 
 
 
 For every sleepless hour, something indeed sleeps. Determined to wake. Solace in insanity? I can only hope to be so fortunate. Any deviation is welcome. Any escape from `` Now''. 
 
 
 This `` cure'' was not wanted. We were told it was necessary. Necessary to survive, as a human. A human whose competition was every other human that opted for the `` cure''. I am surviving. No better off than if this thing never existed. My output exceeds my input. I am a slave to the demands of industry. A worker, a drone. 
 
 
 Day and night come and go without notice. Seasons pass without celebration. We are a sewer of benefactors. No creative outlets. Our `` extra'' time has been monopolized and commoditized. Those that believe otherwise are delusional, ignorant, or both. 
 
 
 We must fight the `` cure''. It is in our nature to rest, to sleep. We are deprived of our nature and need an audacious pandemic. There can be no masters.
