“Why does the overtired baby cry just like the hobo? Both yearn for bed.” - The Talmud

There are times, dear reader, when I feel like what little space around my eyes that isn’t caked in rheum will never be enough to flow away the tears I shed in sharing my spirit with you here at fleyrm. I am horribly tired and fear I may be afflicted with the what the Spanish call Perezoso enfermedad: the OVERWORKED syndrome. This website has been my everything for nigh five days, and frankly, I am sapped.

Were there but such a portal as this for the givers of advice, friends, were there but such a portal.

Being in such dire need of retreat (and having destroyed my Blackberry in a hot glue gun/frog pond incident two days ago), one might think it near impossible to go on in this world at all, let alone still find time to make beautiful choices- but I am Courtney Austen Brown. I am the bravest man alive.

I have mustered the strength to capitalize on my emotional emaciation and turn it into something positive. I invite you along my journey toward recuperation, as I grit my teeth, commit my soul to healing, and stay in bed all day and don’t leave, no matter what.

Whether hurricane shelter cot or $7,000 slab of memory foam*, bed- the place we lay our head- is our sanctuary. In resting the body we recharge the soul, re-purposing the energy of leisure to take on new days and new enemies. Like the majestic butterfly emerging from it’s pupal case, we are changed after our time in repose. Who shall I be 24 hours from now? Time will tell, followed shortly by me telling.

• 12:00AM: I am entering the cocoon- which is what I have named my Parisian canopy bed for this Lifesperiment™- and am prepared for my metamorphosis. With me, I have only a gallon jug of mineral water, a half tin of mints, and my Courtney-Kraftbox, as so I may document this experience in whatever way I see fit. To begin? A simple torn newsprint collage.


• 12:45AM: Resounding collage success. The waking, lucid Courtney sees a warrior in the piece’s compelling visage, but the mirror-me sees a cheering audience. Ever so curious what my dream-self will see. Having never before been so challenged by my own art, I reward myself by drinking the better part of a gallon of mineral water.


• 01:05AM: If I could be lulled to sleep each night by a pleasure so simple as sucking on a breath mint, I would become the world’s most contented man, in addition to being it’s bravest. Hark! Dreams approach.


• 09:12AM: I wake, and terribly need to use the restroom. Must not get out of bed. Perhaps this sensation will pass with the partaking of a breath mint.


• 09:14AM: No. No it does not. The menthol of the mint has only made keen all sensation in my teeth, which now pulse in anticipation of releasing this waste. Must not get out of bed.


• 11:40AM: I am just now recalling what my dream-self saw in my newsprint collage: he saw waking, lucid Courtney pondering what he, dream-self would see in the piece. What trickery hath mirror-me wrought in my subconscious! Approaching the halfway point of my metamorphosis, my psyche is literally dismantling itself.


• 12:53PM: Could I order a pizza, like, right to my bed?


• 02:47PM: Yes! Yes I can order a pizza right to my bed. After explaining to the police officers that I had indeed instructed young Victor of Magliozzi Pizza to break into the second floor of my home, all were good enough to escort themselves out- but not before offering my visitors a breath mint! We laughed and laughed, my dream-self and I. I look forward to making many more memories with the fine members of the New York City Police Department, and will always reflect fondly on the time we spent together.


• 04:15PM: Full of pizza and without my mineral water jug, which Victor of Magliozzi Pizza was kind enough to dispose of for me, I begin to meditate. As I ascend into total clarity, I focus on a single pleasure- in this case, smearing the purple gluestick from my Courtney-Kraftbox on the oak post of my canopy bed.


• 07:32PM: ?!enod uoy evah tahW !loof uoy ,oN


• 08:12PM: Resounding meditation success. Finally confronting mirror-me, I am forced to look upon himself in the mirror, thus seeing me: waking, lucid Courtney. Upon discovering that he is me, mirror-me shattered myself into a thousand pieces, oblivious to the fact that this had all been orchestrated by me, but as my dream-self. Mirror-me was a fool, and my dream-self and I certainly won’t miss him.


• 09:55PM: I shiver, and regret throwing my blankets across the room during meditation. Is my flesh punishing me for transgressions of the mind? Probably. Flesh is man’s pettiest possession, and it will not be getting any more pizza.


• 11:20PM: A terrible thought has crossed my mind: by allowing myself this complete reversal of emotion and energy, have I let loose mirror-me into the waking, lucid world? Has mirror-me become me, and has the brave man that began this journey now banished himself to the mirror world? Cruel fate! Oh dream-self, what say you? What is the opposite of me? Death, for I am life. Yes. Kill myself? Yes, by killing mirror-me- rather, death personified, only life will be left in this world. But if I am speaking with dream-self, then I too must be dreaming, and if I am dreaming, then I AM DREAM-SELF! And while mirror me may be the waking, lucid me, he is certainly no dream-self. Thank goodness that’s resolved; I seriously almost killed myself.


• 12:00PM: My feet to the floor for the first time in 4 hours, I stand. I walk to the mirror and stare deep into my own eyes. I see myself backwards. I see a warrior, and a cheering audience. Am I really changed? Certainly, I was a warrior before this moment. I have heard the roar of a crowd. I scream, and hear the sound of myself echo through my home. The echo! It is my own answer.

I am changed, in that I am questioning the results of a Lifesperiment™ for the very first time. Like the collage, I am confounded and captivated by my own creative output. I have quite literally made art of my life, and look forward to dissecting and discussing my life with my good friend dream-self. Resounding life success.

I collect my Courtney-Kraftbox and descend to the kitchen, where I shall begin creating a thank you/apology card for young Victor of Magliozzi Pizza, as well as eating the shit out of whatever I can find in my freezer. Ah, fish sticks!

From my dreamscape to your mirror-verse,

nworB netsuA yentruoC

*I refer not to tempered polyurethane “memory foam”, but the psychoactive memory foam pioneered by Dr. Johann Steig, which imparts new, better memories to those who sleep upon it.