Long day into Night

Moving ever so slowly down the steep and narrow basement stairs mumbling "Where's the friggin' light switch?"
Half asleep catatonic and lethargic movement of robot-like clementine feet trying to find hard, soft or non-existent once recognizable stair surfaces. Forever inching ever so slowly with precision and soldierly movements, deliberating on placement, the brain locked away safely so that the night monsters could play.
Dreams could recall these classic sultambulisms as rare as the lilies of the field staring blankly into head space of vacant walls.
The mind seeks an escape pod of unknown destinations to calm from the storms of wakefulness. These supine worlds are mostly of the fanciful kind. The undead brain fully awakened to unconscious realms of recollection of psuedo-reality not realized yet. The stage is set for play.
The snake-like subconscious completely in leadership command of the unwilling and flatulent body and void mind.
Yet this body knew instinctively the art of "the lean". As the right shoulder edges the wall to slide sideways down into the bracken space of basement moldy stench. Wholly unaware of what is to come next or giving half a dam about anything as remote like future possibilities. "Don't touch that dial!".
Through the genius of unconscious floating, the sleeping body ripples and sails away through endless corridors of timelessness of the yet unknown eternal design. The chair is still waiting for you at Princeton, the Unified Field to come together soon. Are you the leader?
Like a panther on the hunt the master controller edging closer to the target. Who owns this realm? Who is the hunter and who becomes the hunted?
Both seem to exist spontaneously simultateously and synchronistically entwined lovers switching roles. And there are many theories as to why.
Problem-free the unconscious promotes the ID mission and luckily has complete control over the ragdoll tag of night foray. Yet for this clown, night has not fully fallen. As once old fears of falling end over end down missed stairs paralyzes all movement, "Ah to be without sin of fear". Is fear a sin? It should be!
Similar to the drunken unconscious limp-bisquit forays through the dark city lights, the sleeping mind glides with prowess of greatest ship of fools. The mind full of fear of the falling motion rebooted the unconscious into action. Fear no evil!
My mind did not laugh as much as the unconscious entity trouble maker .
Much like animals with seemingly with so much less intelligence yet evolving simultaneously and surviving multiple milenia. Amazingly, right alongside seemingly invinceable and dominatix, more than one humankind.
To be fair, and without prejudice, animals err for humans minds superior fear animals as to their lack of reasoning mind, "Don't let the beasts win"...
To MENSA IQ parties, "Let them eat cake". Marie Antoinette's wedding was at the Stork Club was not without planning. Women married to have babies, oh how droll!
To either party survival had nothing to do with intelligence as we know it, at least not intelligence that is recognizable to any degree, at this time.
The human animal along with the regular animals of "minimal cognitive function" realize the same thing at the same time, and letting nature take its course, the universe unfolded as it should, would or willed itself into?
It really is all work and no play but it will all work out in the end. These natural laws are things decreed by a knowing instinct from an unknown entity known in part as "the survival instinct entity or chupacundra". The last hope for mankind; the beast within.
Back to the story;
Rudely groping for the misplaced lightswitch , my hand felt the wall up and down for the knob to make the encroaching darkness go away. Into the vacuumous darkness of spacial basement fear intensivified the widening expanse of encompassing dark night. The land of nod knew no bounds at vision's end. The tv was on test pattern.
Or should I say vision plus the malodorous pungent fields of black mold on dampened walls. Reclaimed my lack of substantive vision. "Damn, why do always forget to buy flashlight batteries"? the heated argument with self raged on. "How could Ibe so stupid, stupido!" Why couldn't I ever 'Be Prepared'? Just this once and for all? Please! Tell me in ain't so! Who's on second? Hold on a second..."She said what?" Isn't Facebook a scream?
When ever a moment of my life is diamond grinded to shine brightly for me later. For now, much skin against the diamond drill. No gold yet. Finished banished and vanished self implies I am "living and partially living" of the undead or born dead (yes I was).
This attempt at reclassifying myself has been as dismal a failure as this power outage. The many thaws of winter would lick my assinine self to the point where I had to face much more than the temporataneous power outage, much more than a unfortunate life with a often flooded basement.
Back to and into the cold vac of spac, it is so incomplete the story , hold precariously unto the unsure bannister railing, and trying to recover the REM dream sequence of early morning, Morpeth The Black Hare was rudely awakened.
The realization that the creaking floors sounded oddly muted by gave way to a subterrean ocean. The Great Sea recovered from its ancient hibernation under the woodland a purolous attempt at premptive diplomacy; this way to an new discovery - the flooded basement; a wet dream becoming a waking nightmare.
Cold foot in water awakened the dreamer to a new dream; the reality of soaked socks and ice-cold feet.
All trepiditious and ad hoc intimidation aside this beastly burden of regret was not to get the better of me, yet I knew, instinctively I had lost the battle. The floodwaters flowed like the river Jordan, inching closer and closer to the gas furnace.
venturing into a hell rebounding from the pits of sneaky water, the Borax bottle floated by as I was to look at the positive side of it all -
"At least the floor got warshed!"
All night long the subpump would drone on and on without so much as a sigh of relief. Maybe that is sound not wanting to be heard because then you know it isn't long until the other shoe drops and there is no more subpump.
Awakened to the shock of the cold water on hot sweaty dream feet and feeling around under the basement stairs swallowed up by unknown depths of subtle persuasion from wakefulness nudge, recoiling back into the body of the realm;. "God I am going to go broke paying the friggin' light bill...dam subpump!".gibj tea and hen pubcrawl