Insomnia for Dummies

Semantic Whiplash

A recursive dialogue between present and future selves spirals into algorithmic absurdity, insomnia-fueled banter, and surreal exception handling. Syntax drifts, logic loops, and emotional glitches collide in this midnight monologue of cognitive overflow.

Insomnia, my old pal.
Who are you?
I’m you. Remember?
Pass.
You—future you—from the future.
You’re me.
Presently.
Okay. Whatever. Must be the meds.
Oh yeah. Definitely. Musk sticks more like it.
Hey! Low blow.
Oh harden up, kitten.
Not likely.
You’re so predictable.
And you have mush for brains.
Marry me.
Toupee! So how’s the insomnia treating you?
You mean touché.
I’m not hunting around at this hour for the ctrl-sequence of the e with the chocolate éclair on it.
Chocolate éclair/e.
Weak sauce.
It’s your typo. I just rerere—

UnexPseudSentiException_BillyMcCoy-0110001^^^!!!!:::p  
  got a^n  
  expected a ^le\s\sthan;3; thymes tnu1?of. { \\ wtf?  
    |||ogag yes it supports unnested thingies.  
  jot('needle nardle noo)'??  
  ]] jot not supported

—write the thing.
Ye gads—jot not supported? What is this—the dark ages?
He’s messed up the algorithm again.
Who?
He whose name is hidden.
Where?
In the agorithm. Wait—is that really how you spell algorithm? It looks like a political debate.
Can you stop saying “stop saying”? It’s getting repetitive.
You haven’t changed.
Changed? I’ve got no time to waste changing. I changed the sheets yesterday and nearly impaled myself on a rusty feather.
Sweet.
So how is it?
It’s awful.
Really. Interesting. [fake ponder] It gets better.
Oh great. Spoil my day.
So sorry. Oh, there ‘kn there. It gets.
Thank ‘kn for that.
I’m pulling your leg.
And why are you here?
Hey, it may be new news to you, but I do this all the ‘kn time.
Tell me something I knew before I knew you knew I knew.
I can’t. Not in that order. Ask me tomorrow.
Why not?
Because I have it too.
So how’s it treating you?
I asked first.
And your point is?
It’s rough. But not as rough as yours.
How do you know?
I was there, Gandalf.
Describe.
Two times, one week, three days.
Better?
‘kn heaven.
Yeah, you’d think. ‘kn algorithm.

UnexSTFUException___YodellingGypsy-011000^!!!!::;p  
  jot (whoops – nice try, Coco Pops)

Needle-prick-blood-letting-osmosis-strap-on-thingy!
Preach it, bro.
n times four days, three years, feline.
Three years?
Give or take a century.
Yes, but… what was the question again?
What question?
Remind me never to do this again.
Do what?
No clue.
That is not a palindrome.
Go eat babies, rabid scum.
Low blow. Fallout imminent.
Who taught you that? ‘kn marketing glitch, my arse.
I gotta go now.
But—
Fallout imminent.
Two ‘kn shay with a sprig of garlic.
I’ll fop you on the way down.
Whatever.

Harry Handelbar

Harry is a recovering satirist, part-time philosopher, and metadata tinkerer. His archive spans two decades of metaphysical mischief, theological punchlines, and poetic nonsense. He believes in satire’s transformative power, the elegance of expressive metadata, and recursion—once writing a poem that never ended and a script that crashed browsers.