The storm comes in. A cyclone. The blurs crawl up from the peripheral, closing in on my center of focus.
Like a snake.
A shimmering, glimmering, multi-colored serpent slowly eating away at my reality. Flashing. Leaving me alone; just it and myself.
What is it and where does it come from? What causes it? I look, and their faces disappear. They're just eyes, and then the blurs eat up there faces, eat up the world.
The feeling washes over me, cold and frightening: none of this is real. It's just the value you place on it. Maybe they're all malfunctioning. Maybe when this happens, you're glimpsing beyond the veil.
Fucking insane. I'm fucking mad.
Closing on in.
Perchance to wake or perchance to dream? Is seeing believing, or is believing seeing?
Am I alone here, and could you ever understand? The weirder things get, the harder it is to deal with the strange, the mundane -- the everything. I'm cold and desolate, with a head full of questions most would consider irrelevant. How do you have the power to just ignore this? Do you truly believe that by ignoring it, that it will go away? You are a volcano. I continually confront my beast.
These things that erupt from my mind -- do they even have a purpose? A meaning? Is there any way to stop this? How they rip into my consciousness, invade, distort, blur, dance their shadows upon the windows through which I perceive the world? It could get so out of control.
What triggers this?
Life can be beautiful -- I vaguely remember. I held her. I had a chance there at something true, something to pull me back, but I keep drifting here. The world angers me, frightens me. There's always this distance; this difference. Am I diseased? sometimes I feel like I am. Other times, it's like I'm missing limbs they have... and have limbs they don't. That they're just as incomplete as me, just differently. Those limbs I have? You have those limbs, dear -- why do you look away? And how? If i could master your art, would I want to? There's got to be a way of learning to control this. Head far up, feet on the ground.
I'm so fucking scared.
Why does life have to be this way? I'm trying. But it's just not going away. I'm getting older, running out of time. How many years might I have left? How far will I get before the blackout -- and that place I've been, is that where we go? Where I go? As for now: where do we go? Where do I go? Where did it all go?
Where did I go?
Like a snake.
A shimmering, glimmering, multi-colored serpent slowly eating away at my reality. Flashing. Leaving me alone; just it and myself.
What is it and where does it come from? What causes it? I look, and their faces disappear. They're just eyes, and then the blurs eat up there faces, eat up the world.
The feeling washes over me, cold and frightening: none of this is real. It's just the value you place on it. Maybe they're all malfunctioning. Maybe when this happens, you're glimpsing beyond the veil.
Fucking insane. I'm fucking mad.
Closing on in.
Perchance to wake or perchance to dream? Is seeing believing, or is believing seeing?
Am I alone here, and could you ever understand? The weirder things get, the harder it is to deal with the strange, the mundane -- the everything. I'm cold and desolate, with a head full of questions most would consider irrelevant. How do you have the power to just ignore this? Do you truly believe that by ignoring it, that it will go away? You are a volcano. I continually confront my beast.
These things that erupt from my mind -- do they even have a purpose? A meaning? Is there any way to stop this? How they rip into my consciousness, invade, distort, blur, dance their shadows upon the windows through which I perceive the world? It could get so out of control.
What triggers this?
Life can be beautiful -- I vaguely remember. I held her. I had a chance there at something true, something to pull me back, but I keep drifting here. The world angers me, frightens me. There's always this distance; this difference. Am I diseased? sometimes I feel like I am. Other times, it's like I'm missing limbs they have... and have limbs they don't. That they're just as incomplete as me, just differently. Those limbs I have? You have those limbs, dear -- why do you look away? And how? If i could master your art, would I want to? There's got to be a way of learning to control this. Head far up, feet on the ground.
I'm so fucking scared.
Why does life have to be this way? I'm trying. But it's just not going away. I'm getting older, running out of time. How many years might I have left? How far will I get before the blackout -- and that place I've been, is that where we go? Where I go? As for now: where do we go? Where do I go? Where did it all go?
Where did I go?
