Lecter
03-05-2007, 04:44 PM
I thought I would share this stream of consciousness story with all of you. It isn't real. It is a figment of a fevered imagination. With that in mind, enjoy!
I am feeling quite alive at the moment, and am stilled stunned at the timing of the text message I received as things were settling down.
I had heard a lot about Sally. Very fickle, but very sincere. I wondered if a date was possible, and voila, she appeared on my doorstep. Our lips brushed ever so gently...I inhale her timeless beauty.
Whifffff!
Bam!
GONE!
GONE!!
GONE!!!
World folding in, swinging wide, all of reality swinging around, alligator mouth and cereal bowls and nice swing close. Home? Parents? Not in sight, but feel them. Not so much death as closure, a zipper closing. Or opening. Both, simultaneously.
Wow!
Wow!
Wow
wow
w o w
Scattered table contents. Picking up. Picking up bits and pieces of reality. Not back. Pick up, backer, see water pipe. Broken? Is it the pipe or reality? If there was a line, it would be blurred.
Found computer, typing. How the fuck to describe this? Cell phone beeps.
Text message from a shaman (who I haven't communicated with in a couple of months). Truly uncanny timing. This is why there is belief in psychic connections.
Reply.
Call. Discuss. Serendipity? Addresses.
Started at 12:12, grounded at 12:50ish.
Ish. Heh.
Broke glass pipe. How did the pipe leave the table? Remember it sitting there calmly. A smokey wisp rising, wondering if I took enough in. Had plastic bag. Sharps container. Set it up, must have known it would be needed.
Reality stitched.
Twenty pound box moved. Table shifted. Speaker knocked over. Pull table back. Afraid to move box, as I am under the impression that it is attached to reality, and if I move it, things may come undone.
Found glass shards and slide. How they got behind me, I have no idea.
Grass or car? Mom's old powder blue four door? There were two swings, two rolls, two cartwheels of reality. They came from nowhere, but once they started, I knew they would finish. Like a circular Japanese fan. As they opened or closed, zip, split apart, nothing. Just nothing. I was nothing. I could feel reality rotating around the center. I was the center. Do I have a zipper in my soul?
Yes, a better setting. Yes, a sitter. The will is strong, the flesh (and glass) is weak. No blood. But the risk was good in retrospect. I needed to know dependence was not an absolute. The traveler went the distance and returned to tell the tale. The swimmer did his lap. There is a foundation now where there wasn't before.
Barely remember leaning back, holding, counting to twenty. Never finished. Finishing now.
Smoke. Smell still there. No, here. Reality is here. Smells good (both).
I kiss Sally good night.
Update:
There are moments where the stitches seem loose.
Not completely uncut. Small slice on the upper left stomach.
Nine Inch Nails is like a big warm motherly hug. Beside you in time, Right where it belongs, You know who you are. The true artist knows how to intrigue, how to inspire, how to go far enough to draw the participant in, make them work to complete the total vision, with maximum impact, in the most personal of ways.
Swung the sharps bag cartwheel-like around the edge of the dumpster. It shattered much like reality should. Oddly satisfying.
I am feeling quite alive at the moment, and am stilled stunned at the timing of the text message I received as things were settling down.
I had heard a lot about Sally. Very fickle, but very sincere. I wondered if a date was possible, and voila, she appeared on my doorstep. Our lips brushed ever so gently...I inhale her timeless beauty.
Whifffff!
Bam!
GONE!
GONE!!
GONE!!!
World folding in, swinging wide, all of reality swinging around, alligator mouth and cereal bowls and nice swing close. Home? Parents? Not in sight, but feel them. Not so much death as closure, a zipper closing. Or opening. Both, simultaneously.
Wow!
Wow!
Wow
wow
w o w
Scattered table contents. Picking up. Picking up bits and pieces of reality. Not back. Pick up, backer, see water pipe. Broken? Is it the pipe or reality? If there was a line, it would be blurred.
Found computer, typing. How the fuck to describe this? Cell phone beeps.
Text message from a shaman (who I haven't communicated with in a couple of months). Truly uncanny timing. This is why there is belief in psychic connections.
Reply.
Call. Discuss. Serendipity? Addresses.
Started at 12:12, grounded at 12:50ish.
Ish. Heh.
Broke glass pipe. How did the pipe leave the table? Remember it sitting there calmly. A smokey wisp rising, wondering if I took enough in. Had plastic bag. Sharps container. Set it up, must have known it would be needed.
Reality stitched.
Twenty pound box moved. Table shifted. Speaker knocked over. Pull table back. Afraid to move box, as I am under the impression that it is attached to reality, and if I move it, things may come undone.
Found glass shards and slide. How they got behind me, I have no idea.
Grass or car? Mom's old powder blue four door? There were two swings, two rolls, two cartwheels of reality. They came from nowhere, but once they started, I knew they would finish. Like a circular Japanese fan. As they opened or closed, zip, split apart, nothing. Just nothing. I was nothing. I could feel reality rotating around the center. I was the center. Do I have a zipper in my soul?
Yes, a better setting. Yes, a sitter. The will is strong, the flesh (and glass) is weak. No blood. But the risk was good in retrospect. I needed to know dependence was not an absolute. The traveler went the distance and returned to tell the tale. The swimmer did his lap. There is a foundation now where there wasn't before.
Barely remember leaning back, holding, counting to twenty. Never finished. Finishing now.
Smoke. Smell still there. No, here. Reality is here. Smells good (both).
I kiss Sally good night.
Update:
There are moments where the stitches seem loose.
Not completely uncut. Small slice on the upper left stomach.
Nine Inch Nails is like a big warm motherly hug. Beside you in time, Right where it belongs, You know who you are. The true artist knows how to intrigue, how to inspire, how to go far enough to draw the participant in, make them work to complete the total vision, with maximum impact, in the most personal of ways.
Swung the sharps bag cartwheel-like around the edge of the dumpster. It shattered much like reality should. Oddly satisfying.