The aim is to becomeotherbut not elsewhereto plant many seedsthat things may growThey won't see it comingIf you get it rightso right it must benot meanbut with intentionwhile attention is distractedbecome the alchemistdance with Danusee the Moonbathe in her gloryin mother earths forestdrink her waterlay by her fireand then these words hold mean[ing]and then its worth the ink.but only if you do itand you understandthen your power and your gloryare spoken of in silenceonly then are you becomingonly then you'll never end

do not listen to this while driving or operating machinery of any kind. its time to decodeJoin sleeplessdystopian.comA free community and platform for writers of dystopian, cyberpunk,and speculative fiction, and nonfiction. Refuge for the vigilant insomniacs. We chart digital dystopia armed with words. Our narratives counter algorithms designed for outrage fuelled engagement. Unpicking architectures of undue influence, coercion and controlof the attention and intention economy.Finding meaning through storytelling as resistance.cyberpunks sleepless in dystopiawith a pinch of chaos magick👺this could be fun

If I say the god I believe in doesn’t carry a brief caseAnd the devil is in need of a shaveIf I dare to ask the question Will you stop me and tell me to behaveIf I question every answerIf I fold beneath the sheetsIf my soul is eaten with cancerWill you still believe I take up arms so defensiveI take up position so wideI act not to be offensiveI act until I dieMy god needs no worshipNo slavery in sightNo servants at the doorNo widows plight I take up arrows of good fortuneAnd plunder what is leftOf your sanctions comes my thunderOf you love I am bereftStolen from me before birth I reach out and yearnTaken from what I’m worthBut in you I never learn Take up arms of good sorrowSpears turn into earthly toolsIn your yoke I will borrowThe wisdom of wisdom foolsI look now for life’s long lessonAnd find it lacking in plain viewI beg forgiveness for my transgressionI wish your judgement were not trueI wish now for an answerA way to make it all worthwhileTake god away this cancer And put back my childish smileFinding meaning without reasonFinding reason where meaning once stoodNo changing within the season No words that come out goodI ask now for the guidanceTo find a way through it allI ask now not for your silenceI ask now not to let us fall

 This thing we’re creating, it’s not natural but it comes from it. At least we used to be. Now we are part robot. And we don’t mind it.In factWe love it.We get withdrawals if we are moments away from it.This thing we’re building. It is not natural. It will suck the life out of everything and keep going.I would tell you to watch, but you won’t miss a second. You’ll click replay.Because that’s what you like. And they know it. They knew it before you did, and that is the scary thing.At least it should be.But you don’t seem bothered.You never really do. As long as you can get your rocks off. And play your role. It’s panto. And your happy.And so am i.If I don’t engage, I am shunted. If I do, I am de-framed.So, I do. But I don’t. but I so do at times. We all do. There is no point denying it, when we don’t, for the longest while, we find contemplation. And things growing we never noticed before. And then we reach out for it, its all over again.They paint algorithms with our lives so that we live on eternal.And we wonder why mother has left the building.She might not be going for a pack of cigarettes this time. And we know we are right. But we are easily distracted and hypnotised by machines.I am robot.Photo by Alex Knight:Visit sleeplessdystopian.com to read more of my work

people say they are going to go dark and they don’t mean itthey say they are disconnecting, going off-grid but it is all just utter bullshitand I am no differentI mean clearly look at me typing into a computer to write a post on my website to share on social media in the vain hope that someone might be in some way touched by itNarcissist that I amBut I would love to be a painterA sculptorFor then I would not touch high definitionAs I would be touching on lifeSo, I would like to go off-gridBuy some woodlandLive off the landAnd be a good neighbour and caretaker to all the beings that live within itGrow my own foodBut only some of this will happen and not in the rose-tinted way I would like them toAnd some things won’t happen at allAnd I will have to be okay with thatBecause one day we all goYou will go, I will go, everyone will go from this world into anotherAnd we are so tied to this one that that process can be painfulAnd can break our heartSo let itIt’s meant toDon’t be fooled by the Hollywood bullshit endingsThere are no great speechesThere are no grand finalesAnd certainly, no encore for the likes of you and meNot this timeso, living off the land sounds niceand we should all give it a goor at least die tryingbut in harmony with it, not the other waya million fucked up consciousness club together to buy a second-hand carand then drove it through your malland the worst thing is you saw it coming, all along, and you were too paralyzed with fear about your own incompetence that it came truewell, that’s the way it goes juniorbut remember what the film said“c”And then the line died,` and with it the party--Photo by James Frid: Written and read by Sam I am from SleeplessDystopian.com

We court ourselves our entire lives. We are hardly getting to know ourselves and we disappear. The reality of that should hit home, but it doesn’t. It never does. We wonder at ourselves. Pity ourselves and are let down by ourselves far more often than we would like to mention. But it’s ok. We are only human. Whatever that is. And so, the mystery continues. We are never quite where we think we are when we look to try and find ourselves. And we are always the same. But somehow different. We can sit and stare all day and yet never really be there. We can be lost. Even to ourselves. Only to realise we were meant to be thinking about nothing and not be lost in something. Shadows dance across the periphery and bring smiles to our faces. And sometimes pain. But those versions of ourselves we remember but it is not quite us. It’s not quite who we recognise as the image we have painted in our minds. Bad or good it makes no difference. But it is seldom what we see in the mirror and recognise when we truly know who we really are. And so, we project out. Because it’s easier. It is easier than doing the work and finding the answers. We can palm it off on the other guy and let him feel its retribution, so be it. In our disregard for human existence. We disregard our own. And yet we know it and we do it anyway because we are just too damn hard on ourselves. we didn’t ask for this. It’s not our doing. We’re just trying to survive the game. Until we expire. So, we know so little by its end that we read it aloud. We search for meaning in the meaningless and pay over the odds for it. And it’s mediocre at best. Back of the postcard semiprecious platitudes make up for a lack of any discernible integrity. But yet we buy into it because we’ve got to find something to take the edge off. We need to find meaning. They say that as you get older you start to settle into yourself. And it’s true. But you also look back at the older, or younger, versions of yourself and somehow you are unrecognisable, even to you And yet a grain of you was there all along. Which should be enlightening but it leaves you asking, “well if it wasn’t me there all along who was it and where have they gone?” And you are right to ask. Photo by Pixabay: https://www.pexels.com/photo/macro-photography-of-brown-and-black-lost-cat-signage-on-black-bare-tree-159868/

This lifeThis life, this life it hurts and sometimes Sometimes the people make it worstChasing, chasing words away Chasing, I wish the words would stay And inspire me to find something else to do And inspire me to do something like you But this life is what they put me through, they saidKnow your place sonAnd get your homework doneLearn the system of success Don’t give in to sin, lest you will confess This life This life sucks out your soul All pain, no angst no rock n rollLeft dying on the road History let’s your mind explode This life will never let you restThis life will beat you at your best This life, this life is a struggle from the startLost in confusion of the heart This life is all that’s left to give This life is all I have to live ---Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

A poem about meaning

The cult of conspiracy ravages within the echo cambers of social media. Painting the wall monochrome with the blood of the naysayer. Leaving the stale scent of resentment for all that do not believe. A warning sign for all that should doubt, with the head of John the Baptist placed out front with a spike shafted up through his neck and out through his left eyeball. The crime? He wasn’t an anti vaxer, he was a baptiser of tax collectors, working for a higher cause of course. People have become too lazy to do the real work, to dig a little deeper than the meme. To find out the real cause or source of the information they spew forth, like, share and use to justify the hatred and bile that envelopes them. To find out where the real conspiracy lies whilst they promote Russian filled disinformation, misinformation and make the news seem fake.Grasping at every straw to suit their world view. To try and make sense of the senseless. And normalise abnormalities. “The numbers are fake” they cry “it is no more deadly than the flu”, “They are trying to bring down the economy and enforce sodomy on the young.”When was it that conspiracy theory became mainstream? When did the theorist move from sweat filled darkened rooms, with news paper clippings connected by bits of string on every wall, or maybe that was just the movies? When will people realise that the real conspiracy is the conspiracy theories themselves that point people in the wrong direction whilst data-driven disco kings dance across their timelines. Critical thinking, becomes less critical. No need to study and learn when you are reposting and how it sits within the world when universities are filled with communists looking to force gender specific pronouns on you, whether you want them or not. Everything is a lie. Everything is fake. Everything is driven by greed. Well no shit Sherlock. If conspiracy is the rich conspiring to make themselves and their friends richer, then yes conspiracies are everywhere. Or that is just business a usual. But what about the deep state? What about the illuminati? You don’t hear too much about them anymore. Why not? Don’t get me wrong I like and will entertain a good conspiracy theory. But at the moment people seem to be grasping at straws. Aligning with badly thought out theories with very little substance behind them. They are easy to pick apart. But be wary, when you do expect the wrath of the theorist to turn on you and name you part of the “problem”. Watch you don’t find yourself cancelled.But why I hear you proclaim have they become so popular. The cult of conspiracy needs cult leaders. And they have found a way to monetise hate and generate a star following by spewing forth bilge in disguise as insight. Watch closely my friend and see who is getting rich off the theory. Who is dinning out on your dime whilst you throw yourself into the firing line of yet another ill throughout out meme war?

A world stuck in its own shadow not growing Not moving the way, we were told it wouldWas it a lie?A mass conspiracy A social hoax, on us allAn experiment gone wrongThey promise so much and yet deliver so littleFalse prophets peddling fear and liesEmpty headed and lose tongued Whispering in the ears of informantsWhilst snarling in the face of democracy False vipersFangs removed, looking to incite a riotA false revolution A knuckled headed coup on the peopleFooling no one but those attracted to the alternative to truth