Legomenon for Midnight Writings of the so-called INSOMNIAC

It is hard not to notice that among the Writings in the Archives a certain number take as their setting the middle of the night, when the speaker is unable to sleep. Further, the voice in some of these nocturnal meditations seems deeply related to that in other Writings, so much so that it has been put forth that it is the same voice in all. This may go too far — certainly the circumstances in some narratives appear to be inconsistent with each other, but the similarity of the state of mind of their Author(s) was thought sufficiently pronounced to warrant placing them together under one heading.

Not one of these Writings bore a title in its original state, and their arrangement here is not intended to propose any kind of progression in the chronology of their composition — or theme, if such a through-line can be educed.

The first of these 'Midnight Writings', {awake}, begins with the mysterious world that only comes to life when the rest of us are asleep, the enchanted speaker absorbing and exploring its contours like a person at a concert, listening to a familiar piece yet hearing the music as if for the first time. After a while, however, a note of anxious weariness creeps in, in ironic contrast to the eternal peace of the music of the night.

In much the same mood, {the dark} seems to describe the development of a novel, possibly menacing situation to which the speaker has yet to become completely adapted, and yet resolves not to give in to fear or self-pity, but rather to appreciate what is happening as much, and as long, as possible.

Obviously, the speaker in {pass it on} has come to the end of life, and one imagines the placing of its last period as the penultimate action its speaker ever takes (or in any case intends to).

And yet, {the moonlit garden}, its companion piece (the two Writings were found right together), seems to counterpose the wise Saying of the Remnant, Anything can always happen.