Sleepnothingasylum

To dream, perchance to sleep. We are such stuff as sleep is made on, and our little life is rounded with dreams. In a regime in which sleep has been banned, a dissident, somnambulist machine dreams on-the-run, shape-shifting, trying to avoid the insomniac tyranny. This novella belongs to a peripheral literature that concerns itself with eidetic and virtual worlds - insubstantial actualities populated by unstable entities, whose passions outweigh any ability to maintain ongoing form or identity.