ControlDenied
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jan 16, 2007
- Messages
- 3,108
I have arrived at a crossroads. I am in a peculiar predicament. Engineers cannot solve the problem. The tracks have been moved as far apart as they can go but we are still in a crossroads. Scientists have discovered harder metals. Workers have hammered them into the earth. Yet on each chance of the sun’s set and onset, the mind buzzes with the incalculable incongruence of fact and fiction.
Let me tell you. I have spent some time on this equation. Unlike those who worked, or who thought work, I work thought. I hammer and bash it into place so it appears shiny and cold as steel; as terrifying and unavoidable as you know what (it starts with a ‘T’). I have arrived logically, as if step by step, to the finalisation of reality. It is inconclusive. It doesn’t make a bit of sense.
Unfortunately, my mind is a representation of the overall state of affairs in the land. In other words, sheer chaos under the fleeting guise of order. A ragged flock of geese that from far apart hover in a ‘V’, that are held together not by individual intellect, but by chance circumstances and unseen directives. I have arrived to this no-mind by taking step by step. I only later realised that I was stepping in a non-direction, and that things were ravelling. I had arrived logically to the conclusion of no logic. I traveled to the lands of madness through the channels of rationality.
Move the left track left! Move the right left and right! Move me over for a better angle. I hustled the incompetent workers at the main-vein station, prompting them with codes and gratifying their impulses with magic tricks and disembodied fancies. For them, it must have all been moving in an imperceptibly monotonous up-and-down fashion, a moving of one foot in front of the other and the removing of that one to replace the other, which then vanishes, and so on and so forth. A plug or wheel is pulled from the track suddenly and replaced, and the illusion is that one is moving further down its total length but has only reached a new, almost identical increment of it. No one notices because the sun is shining so brightly, the night blankets their thought too quickly to make sense of the light, and the next day appears as if it were a new ticket; a new passage and an entirely foreign experience. Bon voyage.
The mental track is far more ornate than the physical one. The physical, or the Stuntard, as I call him, is a rusty, jaggy old thing. Fit mainly for poor indigenous creatures and regressed auto-workers. The mental track is actually harder than diamond, than a spider’s silk. It is brighter and more true than human thought. But it is entirely useless without the physical one. The physical one leads it here; the mental there. In the end the train travels in a perfectly round circle on a repeating track. The passengers think they are seeing new things, entering a new environment every moment, but the dreaming, the wise and the old all know they are going in a constant loop. So the two tracks equal into absolutely nothing and nowhere. Many demand their money back, even accusing us of robbing them of their lives. But we built it the best we could.
Of course... we have disguised the fact the train does not move. It is a strangely obscene solution, yet so obvious. We break the track every so often and rebuild it in a different way each time. People think they are traveling through borders, according to the schedule we made up for them, and assume that they are traveling outward, or inward, but are really going onward. Toward God.
Let me tell you. I have spent some time on this equation. Unlike those who worked, or who thought work, I work thought. I hammer and bash it into place so it appears shiny and cold as steel; as terrifying and unavoidable as you know what (it starts with a ‘T’). I have arrived logically, as if step by step, to the finalisation of reality. It is inconclusive. It doesn’t make a bit of sense.
Unfortunately, my mind is a representation of the overall state of affairs in the land. In other words, sheer chaos under the fleeting guise of order. A ragged flock of geese that from far apart hover in a ‘V’, that are held together not by individual intellect, but by chance circumstances and unseen directives. I have arrived to this no-mind by taking step by step. I only later realised that I was stepping in a non-direction, and that things were ravelling. I had arrived logically to the conclusion of no logic. I traveled to the lands of madness through the channels of rationality.
Move the left track left! Move the right left and right! Move me over for a better angle. I hustled the incompetent workers at the main-vein station, prompting them with codes and gratifying their impulses with magic tricks and disembodied fancies. For them, it must have all been moving in an imperceptibly monotonous up-and-down fashion, a moving of one foot in front of the other and the removing of that one to replace the other, which then vanishes, and so on and so forth. A plug or wheel is pulled from the track suddenly and replaced, and the illusion is that one is moving further down its total length but has only reached a new, almost identical increment of it. No one notices because the sun is shining so brightly, the night blankets their thought too quickly to make sense of the light, and the next day appears as if it were a new ticket; a new passage and an entirely foreign experience. Bon voyage.
The mental track is far more ornate than the physical one. The physical, or the Stuntard, as I call him, is a rusty, jaggy old thing. Fit mainly for poor indigenous creatures and regressed auto-workers. The mental track is actually harder than diamond, than a spider’s silk. It is brighter and more true than human thought. But it is entirely useless without the physical one. The physical one leads it here; the mental there. In the end the train travels in a perfectly round circle on a repeating track. The passengers think they are seeing new things, entering a new environment every moment, but the dreaming, the wise and the old all know they are going in a constant loop. So the two tracks equal into absolutely nothing and nowhere. Many demand their money back, even accusing us of robbing them of their lives. But we built it the best we could.
Of course... we have disguised the fact the train does not move. It is a strangely obscene solution, yet so obvious. We break the track every so often and rebuild it in a different way each time. People think they are traveling through borders, according to the schedule we made up for them, and assume that they are traveling outward, or inward, but are really going onward. Toward God.
