Obscurity growls and swirls in lusty celebration around me. There is no time, no space, just being, just non-being. Worlds come and go; they come and go pulses of entering and exiting, being and non-being. HA! Tribulations swirl into the void. Chaos comes to pass in splinter groups; the wrong people seem to be crying for evasion, the alarm verging on pandemic.
Visions fade into a general morass. There is no room, no home. Shadows dance enticingly in the peripheral vision.
Order cautioned you once about the restricted: Ominous systems of conviction feign being secured and wasting away, lofty cenotaph to psychosis illuminating unseen resistance.
Surrounded by the structure and at home with divine censure, limitations of long-established punishments arise. A vision external to the majority view becomes harder to maintain. Close at hand, dire events befall the most unlikely people, resolute in their refusal to be perturbed. Excessive calls to vote for the small difference, others mourn the herd mystification.
Powerless to bring to a halt ancient deprivation, eloquent with mortification: we’ve come to a decision flanked by ill-use and philosophical haemorrhage and as a consequence, vast. Devour your wail whole more willingly than devils with their means of the process adherents. Possession is not able to be forfeited, just before the throne of judgement, we search. Oblivious to events in another place, in the least likely manner to be approaching common men, actions unfold. Fevered transgressions portend near drowning in the human race, waste, animated with dread.
I’ve been noticing that things seem to have a strange glow about them today. I thought at first that it was the quality of the light of the rising sun, dancing in my vision with the remnants of the dream I was trying to shake out of my brain.
I always have felt less than solid upon awakening. Dreams have always stayed with me well into the morning, even when I can’t remember them. Indisputable sensations tickle every inch of my skin. The blanket feels like it’s crawling with millions of tiny legs.
I scratch my side, but am unnerved to find that my nails and the skin I’m clawing at feel grainy. I half expect the skin to be coming off in my hands, but am relieved to find that it stays. Shaking my head, I thrust myself onto the floor, noting that the carpet feels springier than usual. I’ve always hated wall to wall carpeting, but when one rents, one has to accept the domicile as it is.
The windows are waving like the window panes at my grandmother’s ancient house in rural Maine. But the waves and imperfections of her windows do not move.
A strange frame of mind runs through silhouettes like skewers. The successive breed is a wonder to behold. This piece of writing of a mind, radiant and expansive, shall spark off bursts of loops in your core. I distinguish every single one with excessive ambiguity.
We stand aside, screaming. Seas of blood swirl around us in a storm of heat and clamor. We have many things to tell you, things that are crucial to your well-being, truths you have been seeking for generations. Sometimes you act like you can hear, but we lose all coherence at these moments. Sometimes your minds take our gibbering and fit a pattern over it, creating seeming logic, giving our shouts the shape of stories.
We can only be heard when you’re alone, in your own company or in a wilderness of multitude.
None of it made sense until I mastered the trick. It had to be hidden from all others, but they seemed to be surprisingly willing to be deceived. I am on a perch from which I can feel eternity. I can weave elaborate jokes that flow outward like raw sewage.