The Rabbit and The Greyhound

Yesterday I fell ill. Today I visited the doctor. He says my condition is serious. For now I am bedridden. I am grey. I would say I'm not taking visitors, but no one wants to visit a dying recluse.

In my condition, time passes painfully, slowly. There is little to mention besides the disgusting symptoms and the dreams. Last night I dreamt I chased an electric rabbit around Jupiter's orbit. Perhaps that's the sort of shit that happens when you die. Shit that's pointless, strange. Or perhaps it was the fever and the drugs. Either way, pointless, strange.

I do not feel a fondness for the world beyond my bed. It is all lies and madness. We make promises and break them. We pretend to connect but it is all acting and affectation. I hope one day in this world of corruption there is born an honest man. Someone who is better, but still has a bit of swagger.

I cannot forget it, but I cannot remember it, either, how the rabbit runs, an emerald light flashing on its back. Focused and exhausted, I chase it through space. At first it is excruciating--painful--but I grow faster and begin to understand the game we play. I know I will never catch the cosmic bunny, but I'm happy to run the course.

And then I wake in a pool of sweat. Oh hell.