Don’t kick Mr. Sandman when he’s down. The restful, good bogeyman, who conks your eyes out with a sack of space-dust, twists your eyeballs until they pop out with a corkscrew, and you are dead asleep from endless daily brain-work, does so in a kind, gentle way that is good for your health.
This is just a dream, he’ll say, cleverly, as he blows a puff of moondust out of his palm into whatever the hell you were when awake and alive. “Now you are asleep and alive,” we think he says, because no one has ever heard a word Mr. Sandman says after he has put them asleep and no one ever will, because fictitious figures follow whatever rules they are made of because there is no other way.
People tell stories using poems, too, but if you are not sure that is possible, you are some kind of poetry, yourself. Songs tell stories, but so do words, and it is enough. It’s an artificial abstraction of society, words are distinct and created by mankind and passed down from generation to generation. I can see other stories a mile wide, but I use 26, artificial and also completely foreign and alien to all of nature aside from what is alive, letters to represent the entire story.
Mr. Sandman doesn’t need words to make you sleep, baby, so don’t kick a man when he is down. Or bogeyman, or apparition or whatever it really is, because it’s not a he or a she, but an it when you boil down to the brass tacks.
But Mr. Sandman has a Mr. in his name, so let’s all just treat him like he wants to be treated, because he is some kind of mythical creature that puts everybody to sleep like Santa Claus puts presents in everybody’s house all in that one day, but Mr. Sandman is working 9-5, each and every day, laying down good and brave men and women to sleep, so let’s be sure to address him by his proper name.
What a working stiff, do you think he gets to wear a special hat at company celebrations? Santa Claus does, he wears a red hat and eats up real good and strong and healthy to bring us the best and baddest at the end of one of those years I had conversationally mentioned earlier in this story. I’m reminding you of this in a conversational manner, because in a conversation people often repeat themselves, due to the words not being available for replay except for what your brain can do for a little while.
This? This is different, because I’ve got to translate my story out of 26 letters into a particular order that ensures that you do not have a bad time during the making of this production or whatever the particular version of events that unfolds for you, or never do.
Ever. In a million, billion years, after which I no longer offer this guarantee, because a million, billion years is not forever. We bring our own knowledge to the cosmos, but our knowledge is only what is already here.