Staying up late has a certain intrigue associated with it, and I often can’t resist the idea of being active in the wee small hours of the morning. At the time of the decision, I rationalize my choice to be of sound judgment because I feel like a million bucks and would prefer not to lie down and attempt relaxation of the mind and body. There are times where I would honestly prefer to engage my mind for a lot longer than my body had anticipated for that day, and this becomes obvious in the morning.
The most rewarding part of late waking is the affordable creativity associated with free time. I can write whatever I want because I know the effort will be genuinely creative and conceived completely unencumbered by time’s sequential nonsense. Speaking of the nonsense afforded by excessive sleep evasion, I shall spin a yarn, which is forthcoming quite soon. Now, in fact.
Twelve Morrow Gates begin sacrificial rites towards an indifferent god of emaciation, who pities the well-fed prisoners-turned-lambs’ existence, their experience among their superstitious captors showing a severe gap between the rich and poor, tycoons and paupers, megalomaniacs and penny pinchers. Exactly the purpose of these sacrifices has yet to be seen by respectable anthropologists, though the second tier of experts find the ceremonies to be completely superficial, often times equalling the thrill of a sporting match (which also often ends in sacrifice). This society of death toll for fun depicts the danger which each civilization inevitably faces, though most shun as barbaric. The few who adopt the vulgar practices tend to have diets lacking in protein, and the sacrifice illustrates their extreme bloodthirst (if not for other people, then for a big ol’ steak). Sacrifice appears to be a custom of the more ancient civilizations, but if the cycle of time tells us anything, there is likely to be another group of tyrannical overlords who deem ritually contained bloodshed a viable option for regaining credibility in the public eye.
WHARVED 