Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Heart of Darkness (cont...)

You wake up in a fevered panic, from a dream you can’t quite remember, and quickly look around the room to try and get some clues to help you determine your possible whereabouts, and hope that, upon receiving this knowledge, it might lend some assistance to your mental faculties, so that the you that is in fact You, might succeed in an attempt to possibly ascertain who you are, and why you’re here in this particular Here, as you have seem to have forgotten...


He thought the dream was real, more real than than the real world was right now anyway. He was unsure, and unsteady in the ways in which he was dealing with the “real” world, and this forced him, for a second, to reconsider what reality was to him until he could find a better reason (or way) to argue with it.

“It don’t matter,” he said with an emphasis on the improper grammar. His world was destroyed. He had no concept of the here and now. He just wanted to tell somebody that something wasn't there, but he didn’t know who that somebody was, nor what the something was, and just as he started to dwell on this, he became suddenly enraptured by the detail of the room, the detail of his thoughts, and his ability to reason with ease and complexity. It was at this point that he realized that this was indeed, the real world, and nothing was going to change that anytime soon.

A moment of silence had passed during this time, and in thinking about this he began to feel a subtle bewilderment from his speech the moment before. Mostly this reaction was due to a cursory focus on his voice’s trepidation and also what he had deemed to be:
1. An unnatural relationship. Not only to the silence preexisting the exclamation, but also to the newly fallen and increasingly compressed silence falling after it.

To this he added:

2. The subjective acoustic intensity (measured by me) between now, then, and the then before then, varies so greatly that I am about to have a visible and physical reaction to the realization of this and also point 1.

He jumped. Not high or far, but with every aspect of his physical being, he jumped. He then looked around the room to see if anybody saw him jump, and in finding it clear of any equal consciousnesses, heroically stormed off into the bathroom of ill-discrepancy, whereby he proceeded to produce a special benefit concert for retarded intellectuals, featuring the rarely seen duo: Massive Shit and Two-hands-clutched-on-the-shower-curtain Puke. It was quite unexpected actually, and he certainly had no idea. He hadn’t even gone to any of the rehearsals, and now that his great moment was finally upon him he felt extremely sick at how he didn’t deserve the honor.


A few hours later, after you clean the bathroom and yourself up, you begin to remember parts of a dream you had the night before. Not any plot, or any other real substance, but almost a feeling of a feeling, or a thought of a thought. You hope you will have the dream again, but you are not really sure of when that will happen, if at all. So in the meantime, you have things to arrange and figure out for yourself and your survival, because you don’t know who you are, where you are, or why you’re so fucked up right now, so get it together, or you’re going to die, because that’s what happens in the real world.

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