I have lived three decades on this cold, cursed rock, and not once have I experienced the pleasure of a fresh new mattress. I have lived my days and nights not unlike a medieval peasant, laying my head on whatever imperfect surface it may find at day’s end. My entire life has been lived in ignorance.
Every mattress I have owned has been first slept on by another. For a long time, I thought this was fine. Ah, how we grow to love the shadows in Monsieur Plato’s cave.
Enlightenment, like death, like love, often comes when you are least prepared, in forms you may never have imagined. For me, enlightenment came in a box. When you gaze upon the image above, imagine birds chirping, children laughing.
A distant yet distinct church choir. Good, now keep that in your head as you read the rest of this screed. The thing comes wrapped much like a scroll bearing ancient knowledge.
Once you free it from its prison it quickly begins to uncontort itself, as if possessed. Arching and writhing in ways unholy. One cannot look away.
The entire ritual lasts a minimum of five hours, but to be safe I kept it out overnight. There it is. .
Beautiful. I spent day one drinking nothing but whisky and shouting things at people on the internet I will never meet. I listened to the entire soundtrack four times over and drew pictures of far-off hills.
I cartwheeled and dreamed a nightmare that flowed onto reality that turned to a dream once more — throughout it all my back was perfectly supported thanks.