Confessions of a Psychonaut

quiet truths whispered any louder and the worlds would shift consumed in the blaze charred remains...

Fri, 17 May 2013 23:28:58 -0400

quiet truths whispered
any louder and the worlds would shift
consumed in the blaze
charred remains
just drifting through space
by a single phrase uttered

et oblivio accebit

they would end the worlds together
staring directly into their deaths
holding hands, letting it wash over them
a million different lives, in a million different realms
just so one could end
in perfection

“My heart weighs heavily in the confines beneath my chest, blood still locked behind the...

Fri, 03 May 2013 22:16:52 -0400

“My heart weighs heavily in the confines beneath my chest, blood still locked behind the ribcage- just slow and dull. Is this what dying feels like? Or just another case of self applied heartbreak?”

He was trying to find contentment, his hand holding the pen- bringing forth his plight.

“Laughter rings through my ears, the crackling of demons as they feast on my flesh. The pain hidden from view, being slowly surrounded.”

It was all he could feel when he touched another soul, reaching straight for the blackness so he could clear it with light. All conscious beings deserve perfection, what he thought should be a birthright. He was willing to suffer so that the others could have it, lost somewhere.

“Why are we given the knowledge of the gods, without the power to do anything about it? I’m in this self imposed conundrum, longing to interact- to seek comfort in another’s form.”

He had to have it on his terms of engagement, its why he was up in these wee hours of the morning- scribbling furiously away. He cared too much for the pen, what it could show him about himself- and not enough how it could help the others out there. His insecurities were projected through the ink, and he was learning to face his own fears and demons.

“I can control my emotions. Dictate that the energy flow elsewhere, leaving them withered and dying. I choose, however to wallow in my sufferings.”

He dropped the pen almost unconsciously, bringing his hand to massage his neck- a headache seeping in. It struck as lightning bolts, setting fire to his mind. He had to take it slow, each spark- every neuron, causing him a little death. He was trying to hold onto a spectacular vision.

“As if they do me any good.”

Sleep wanted to rear its ugly head, so he could rest. Social discourse forbade it.

“Every word releases the torture in my soul.”

One hand grabbed a pouch of tobacco sitting across the desk, the other furiously scratched the last sentence from existence. An ugly black mark stared him in the eyes as he rolled a cigarette with the ease of practice.

“No blanket of silence will bring my soul fully to rest. Torturous whisperings of broken worlds. I cannot flee, cannot escape.”

He was re-patterning everything he had known, shaking his world to watch the pieces fall like a cheap snow-globe. A toy for him to watch as the seconds ticked past and the smoke drifted into his lungs.

“It is an important fact to remember, to be able to put it all in perspective- the folly acts we commit to. Alas, ultimately- it matters not. Transitory existence…”

“Thus are our lives.” Finishing the words aloud.

The sun, that fiery ball high overhead was bringing forth life- and he was drenched in sweat. He...

Fri, 03 May 2013 21:55:27 -0400

The sun, that fiery ball high overhead was bringing forth life- and he was drenched in sweat. He could feel the nuclear reactions from here, as his feet made their way across the desert. Sweat marked his form, the heat welling up beneath his skin. A breeze wanted to caress his face, to wisp away the beads on his brow. Nearing collapse, he willed each leg out implanting the bare feet on the hot coals of sand. It wedged between his toes, beckoning him to fall- offering an embrace soft, yet miserable. As if who he was would stay when he fell victim to gravity, no he had gone to far- he wouldn’t allow it.

There was nothing within sight but a barren wasteland, yet he couldn’t turn back. He wouldn’t allow himself. The sun had risen many times, and he had no clue how long was spent walking. At one point he lapsed out of consciousness, unaware of the blackness stalking him. It swallowed him whole in the blink of an eye, far faster than he could open his lips to protest.

Eyes fluttered open, and it took him a long moment to get them to focus. The world was fuzzy at the edges, details becoming lost- vague shapes assaulting the senses. Before the world could even snap into place, tiredness weighed heavily on his form. The world wavered in and out as his head spun in circles. He was having trouble breathing, heaviness filling his chest. A cough, that turned into a sputter- and he tilted his head to the side just before the vomit spewed forth. Was he on his bed, or in the bathroom? He couldn’t feel any sort of floor, floating somewhere in the absence of light. Eyes were squinted, trying to block out the harsh brightness which was making his world take hold. A shadow formed before him, a grin full of sharp teeth making sure it was seen.

“Silly boy,” a whispered growl at the base of his neck.

my depressions a recession from the outside world an internal obsession- past fetal and curled the...

Sat, 13 Apr 2013 13:56:00 -0400

my depressions a recession from the outside world
an internal obsession- past fetal and curled

the external lessons leave me battered and repelled

expression alone has made me madder than hell
they say time will tell, that illusions now dispelled

this turning of a world, I can’t even watch it twirl

but you can say I fell, that mentally I’ve been jailed

its close enough to truth, if the words are needing held

As a child, I was heavily ingrained with religious knowledge. I honestly don’t know when the...

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 20:03:33 -0400

As a child, I was heavily ingrained with religious knowledge. I honestly don’t know when the floor fell from under my faith, but I do know that I tumbled down a dark spiral which shattered the core of my being. Years were spent in its reconstruction, only to destroy that core once more. Every fall into a pit of blackness only brought forth a brighter light. If only in the depth of that night I were able to see the stars.

I chased away various hopes and dreams, an Achilles complex always wanting something greater. Life ticked past, emotions cycling on the clock face. A time of great highs and lows, forcing the bounds of endurance greater and greater. It was all in vain of course, little attempts to extract every gleam of beauty.

I remember the last time I was truly angry. Destruction of worlds would lay in its wake, a black hole looming. Its gravity pulled me closer and closer. An ancient construct, this hate was wise- it just reveled in chaos. A glimpse could suck you in for eternity, and thats exactly what it did.

A spiraling vortex of blood, you start to fall- it fills your lungs.

“Wake up,” just scream at yourself- it might work. Try and find a life. Carve it into your arm, tattoo it onto flesh. Bleed for hopes and dreams, and no matter what happens you’ll have those reminders- that guidance.

What am I waiting for? No longer am I filled with the dread that plagued past lives, no longer does...

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 19:53:44 -0400

What am I waiting for?

No longer am I filled with the dread that plagued past lives, no longer does the heavy burden of reality feel as if it is about to collapse around me. The threat of destruction has loomed for longer than eternity, yet it comes with a sense of contentment- if the void comes, then it shall.

Yet, I still wait patiently. Wanting greatness to occur, grandiose aspirations linger waiting to spark.

What is it that I wait for?

Is it love? Oh how I desire to be able to feel that manifestation of incomparable joy resting snuggled in my chest. That warmth with every beat, every pulsation sending cleansing fire throughout the core of my being.

I once feared that my lifeforce would spill across the ground before I found it, thickening and cooling against a cool midnight breeze as I died alone and by my own hands. A terror which convinced me that I had no choice but to escape as I had in lifetimes past. A glint of steel across skin, and a fading into the depths of blackness- delving into the maw of the void.

It still calls for me, in times such as now. A sweet sirens song, beautifully attuning empty promises of rest, of peace. A blanket to cover the senses, to keep me warm in lieu of her on those cold nights haunted by the myriad of thought.

It had become a constant struggle to hold onto one sense of reality, that mutual sharing of a...

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 12:49:38 -0500

It had become a constant struggle to hold onto one sense of reality, that mutual sharing of a worldview. Everything would bleed at the edges, merging into something else. He had moved past the place littered with the broken bones picked clean from the old travelers who hadn’t quite made it this far. There wasn’t a path any longer, just foreign plants overgrown which he had to wade through. That feeling of needing one more step to look over the horizon and see a valley below. It was as close to the edge as he could get, and each step pushed it further out.

At this point, it didn’t matter if the path had been traveled before- time had erased its tracks. He didn’t delude himself in any manner, just put forth all his power into struggling to lift his legs. The world was getting heavier, almost collapsing. Each instance, the world loomed further on both directions.

Was he lost yet? He tried to ponder what was occurring. Lush vegetation surrounded him on all sides, while he turned his head. He wasn’t sure if he could turn around, his tracks disappearing as he found himself alone in a different world.

One brief moment was all it took for everything to fall, to be rebuilt. Only in the middle of nothing was he able to finally catch a glimpse of it, way outside of all the distractions assaulting him.

Travel always made him woozy, and he had to take a moment to catch his breath. Everything oozed with a brightness around him, a near toxic level of green. It was a feeling of death and rebirth at a sickening level, pulsating brighter and brighter. If he had eaten, he would have lost his meal. The rumblings stilled as his body tried to reach homeostasis. Everything was spinning, and as he eased to sitting, one hand reached- trying to stabilize himself on the hard ground.

Deep lungfuls as everything wavered in and out, shimmering with each breath. Stars twinkling across the dimensions. Something surged up his spine, the cobra spinning and chasing light to the top of his skull. Another joined it, and another. They wove tighter and tighter, as the light grew brighter and brighter. His eyes would only open to blackness, and the vision. The snakes were trying to make their own world, their little piece of peace. They just couldn’t do it themselves.

Archetypical beings, portions of subconscious wanting liberation into conscious thought. A way to break past the walls and locks into force themselves into the forefront of mind. Always assaulting, it was as if the world became a battle ground for these projections.

The base premise is that the idea of separation is that of illusion, perceived stimuli cannot be...

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 12:10:10 -0500

The base premise is that the idea of separation is that of illusion, perceived stimuli cannot be differentiated by it’s interpretation. We are not able to remain objective in any sense, although we may attempt to delude ourselves into thinking in such a manner.

If everything is actually experiencing itself as a way to constantly grow and push its bounds- is there a way to dictate the external patterning on acute levels which are not readily accessible?

Consciousness and its expression are typically that of a given physical model, but there are monkeys throwing wrenches in the machinery. Projection, assertion of given patterns in a “different” individual is possible with particular knowledge. It comes perhaps best described as a “feeling,” just a particular knowing without the attachment to the typical physical sense organs. Worked many ways, its not a strict violation of what has been termed “free will-” rather a guidance appealing more to the body, working most efficiently by example. Copy given patterns, alter patterns while working on subconscious levels to persuade others to do the same.

Whats next was seen in the state of dreams. Splitting of the consciousness totally into perceivable separate physical beings, and the ability to shift between them at will. At once the puppet masters and the puppet- but knowing that they exist together as one. Humanity at its roots should be bonded in a psychic link that should activate via DNA.

How many walls need to be built?

I believe in nothing I ever think or say, especially when in comes to believing in a sense of “I.”

Whats the next step in evolution?

Creation- for the message, and for its aesthetics. This beauty comes in many forms.

The Cyprus Experiment which broke down, class warfare shifted to the cunning battles between the elite.

We are at a point in time where the pen, this ink- has been the controller of destiny. Meta-programmed to be a quantum star-gate activator. We’re not changing anything, just rearranging the molecules in an appeasing manner. Something appeasing enough to perhaps emulate? To allow it to act as a subconscious guide used to dictate actions?

Reality creation occurs all around us, yet we have forgotten its power. The symbols we use and throw away as trite little trinkets, are the very thing they describe from a cultural standpoint.

This is the point where the most proficient creators would conduct a plot arc, a loop of ideas feeding off one another in a recursive loop. The beginnings which tie in with the endings, slowly traveling through time constructing that one major conflict to tie in all things. Everything else was just prepping, getting ready for the unveiling of the curtain. The red velvet parts, the sea of an old prophet and magician- and we open to a blank stage. It’s longing for the characters to come out and to make their piece, to say a few words then to sulk back into the shadow.

Waiting, training in the absence- to construct an instant who’s beauty is overwhelming.

Transplant banks

Thu, 08 Nov 2012 15:37:29 -0500

The street was deserted minus the heavy machinery whirling in the distance. There were no chirping of birds, no dogs barking as he was used to back in the villages. No, the silence was near complete here- an eerie lack of life around the dilapidated houses. They moved towards the rising smoke, darting in between the shadows. They were on the outskirts, the per-revolution houses awaiting demolishment. The highways were still a few miles away, and the group made their way carefully- splitting up along the way. Each one had their own mission, and they made a beeline straight for it.
‘Closer, yes closer.’
‘You’ll never want to leave you know- not when you see the beauty of the highways.’
The voices started getting angrier the more that he ignored them. ’ Your blood will just be fuel for the machine, and at that point- you’ll be thankful.’
As the distance closed between him and the buildings towering above- the stronger the voices became. It was harder and harder to keep them out, to not fall prey to their sinister suggestions. He had to pause for a moment, to get out from under the relentless sun. He leaned against the walls of an eroding house, carefully pulling out a rolled joint from a side pocket. A prayer, and a hit- the world starting to become fuzzy at the edges. The voices faltered, lingering and hiding into the abyss of a hazy mind. By the time he snuffed out the embers underneath the leather shoes- they had calmed to a dull roar. Two hours left his watch told him. The strike had to be as unified as possible in order to be effective. Squinting against the sky, looming towers told him he only had a few blocks to go and time to kill.
Walking up the desolate street, he tried to find a place to rest. A few shady trees called out to him, and he let his pack fall onto the dying grass. He fell with it, staring at the green leaves overhead. Filtered sunlight across his face, he felt himself start to drift- swaying in the wind with the leaves.

The target was, what they call- a “transplant bank” an important cultural icon. Back in the early days they were where you got the neurochemical enhancements-“upgrading.” These little synthetic biological implants which released nanobots and changed the mood. It started off for the elderly and the dying- a way to relieve their pain, and help ‘em through the transition. But that was only ever the first stage, they starting understanding the process of changing perspectives of whole realities. That was the game changer- they were able to take away the conscious part of being human, of being aware. Fractured the mind into the slave and the one who dreams. And those with the implants are never truly alive, only catching glimpses when they get close to death.
See the physical brain reached whats called a “burnout” point. The synapses couldn’t any longer handle the chemical barrage. They would shut down, whole neural pathways closing. At that point, it was time for another upgrade. They had to physically change the firing mechanism with an injection- a new issue of nanobots, always some new addiction to keep them coming back.
He stepped through the door, and lingered behind a flock of patiently and silently waiting people. The next ten minutes barely crept by.
Glancing nervously at his watch, he fingered the button on the side. Screams ran through his head, making him want to turn and flee. ‘Nothing good will come of this. We both know that much.’
“We’ll see…” The words were spoken aloud, and several people turned to face him with dull stares in the broken silence. A hard look at each one of them in turn, blank eyes turning from his gaze. He pushed the button, and all was quiet. Even his watch’s ticking had stopped. The crowd amassed ahead of him collapsed, bodies falling to the floor in entangling limbs. Twitching on the way down, they no longer had neural access.
Almost instantly the calm was broken with a siren, and the screeching of metal as heavy doors began to fall over the exits. He rushed out, making it just before the crashing weight locked him in. It sealed the shaking bodies within its walls while he struggled against the herd of people moving past. Ducking into the narrow alley access between buildings- he was able to give himself room to breath before he spewed his guts onto the concrete.
‘You killed them. Slaughtered those innocents. They can’t be repaired now, you fried them.’ Thick bile turned into dry heaving, and he couldn’t rid himself of those brief images. The moment the button was pushed, all these personal worlds of strife and pain- those places the people were trying to escape.
‘We only ever wanted to help them. Give them a world free from their sufferings.’
“Fucking lies…” Mumbled words between the heaves and shaking.
‘You’ll see soon enough,’ they taunted back. That ever persistent sickening laughter.
He couldn’t stay where he was. Cleaning crews would be dispatched soon, and if he wasn’t far enough away- when an inspector got there, he would be tracked. He burst into the crowd, and a moment later was lost among them.

Breakfast with the elder

Thu, 08 Nov 2012 00:10:55 -0500

He only had pieces of what he saw the night before, the rest being washed with his naked eyes. A small piece of wood added to the embers, long breaths to get it going. The voices were starting off slow this morning, dulled from the night before. They wanted him to slaughter the sleeping men around him, hints and tips on how easy it would be. He sat up and shook his head violently, wild tangled hair flailing. He could feel that he was being watched, and eyes scanned the dancing shadows from the low light of his fire. The elder was the only other one awake, pouring two cups from a steaming pot. The grey hair hung down over his face, as he took a sip- and motioned for the youngest to come over. The handing of a cup, a sigh as the elder lit up a cigarette. The smoke of a long exhale drifted up and away before he spoke.
“No amount of preparation would have readied you for today. The cities are all that we have taught- and more, and their is nothing like being within their walls. In the middle of their grasps.”
‘Kill him’ the voices whispered, ‘The wall is one of love- he cannot understand, he tries to destroy all which we have created.’
“We have tried our best, yet there’s nothing compared to the gnawing at your mind.”
‘Lies- we have always been here with you. He’s lying, wants to use you to destroy us. You cannot let him.’
“Remember to never get trapped, the community is waiting for us.” The elder grabbed his shoulder, and gave it a firm squeeze. “You’re starting to see the importance of our work- as slow as it may be.” Another sigh, those tired grey eyes which bore into his.
His words were forced coming out, combating against the whispers and gurgling screams. A struggle to get them to fit, “Can we even make a difference?”
‘Yes, yes YES. Doubt, you cannot succeed- will never win. Your histories are lies, and…”
A clearing of the elders throat threw the demon out, although he was slow to respond. Unsure. He held up his drink and took a long look inside- closing his eyes before he spoke. “The cup can sit half empty or half full, either quenching the thirst or making it worse.” A sip of hot liquid running down the throat. “What we do creates a sense of hope for the various villages- no matter if we can help “them” or not.” He nodded upwards, toward the waiting streets. Spoken disdainfully, the elder said it with a heavy heart- but the youngster heard the tone. Spoken as if it were a dirty word.
‘He only cares about himself, and those he has deluded- not about saving us. We don’t want saved.’
“You’ll see for yourself when we reach the surface. Right now it lay muted beneath the concrete.”
“This is muted?” He let out a sarcastic laugh.
The elder concentrated on his smoke, trying to choose his next words carefully. “The mushrooms spoke to me last night-“
‘Ancient deceivers.’
‘They tell nothing but lies.’
‘Only leading you to death, they revel in pain.’
“Showed me what was to come today.” A pause, an inhale thick with heat. “I won’t be coming back- today I have the honor of finally meeting my death in person.” The words were devoid of emotion, stated as a fact. “The men are going to be split up and hunted down. Few are going to make it back- if any. My only fear is that it is a suicide mission for near all. Already there has been too many lives lost.” His voice lowered, and trailed off. Grey eyes glassy, the youngster knew he was watching something else. “They told me more- that all is not yet lost. There is a silver lining in the coming blood. A loosing battle for winning the war. Have that in your mind today, underneath everything else that happens. Focus on what it alludes to when you start to become lost.”
‘The only way to win, is to join.’ Crackling laughter.
‘Already lost, wandering in circles.’
Others began to awaken around them, slowly stretching and rebuilding fires. A motion to lean in close- “The others cannot know- if the teachers had wanted them to, they would have seen the way I saw. You were shown more than you could have possibly absorbed last night- and that knowledge is still brewing within. It will only come out when you are ready, and when you need it-“
‘Never, your mind is weak. There is no hope.’
“Until that point, have patience. Finish your coffee, and go prepare yourself. The night is a long way away, and rest will not come until she does.”
He knew he was dismissed, but he stayed sitting there for a long moment. Question after question ran through his mind; wanting, needing- begging to be answered. Instead of asking, he only nodded his head and crossed the small stream where his sack lay waiting. Something inside, way past the voices, told him that it was going to be a long day indeed- all while the crackling laughter kept him at the brink.

Journey

Wed, 07 Nov 2012 01:20:19 -0500

The sun was his alarm clock, rays falling from the partially blinded window. His eyes opened slowly, catching light. He rolled carefully onto his side, and scanned his watch. 8:32 the digital numbers blinked back him, checking twice just to be sure. He rubbed tension from his tired eyes, and sat up- trying to shake off his dreams. He felt like he was missing something, and didn’t want the feeling to be haunting him all day. A shuffle along to the end of the hall where coffee was waiting for him. Two strong cups and a couple of hand rolled cigarettes to get his head right.
He liked to face the day slowly, basking in the rising sun before he finished getting ready. He had a long walk ahead of him, slowly stretched before picking up his bag- packed and ready to go. Back to the garden, a good bye to the plants. It was a couple of miles walk to where he was to meet the convoy. Three trucks sat waiting, silently running. He said a few quick greetings and hopped in the back of the lead vehicle. They were still waiting for a few more people, and he had to prepare his mind for what was to come. Pulling down his blindfold, he tried to make himself comfortable. Overcome with blackness, he fixated himself on the quiet purr of the engine.
The trip was spent in silence, the rushing of wind filling their ears. Bumpy roads eventually got smooth after a long while. One of the riders sparked up a joint, and after a deep inhale- passed it off to the left. The smell wafted to him even in the rapid winds, and he lifted the bandana a few inches. The desert sun stung his eyes as he got accustomed to the brightness. Each man gave a nod of thanks as it was their turn to inhale a deep lungful. A pat on his arm, a careful handing of the sacred plant. He brought it in close, lips moving in a silent prayer. A few words of thanks. Each man in turn bought forth a product of their own harvest and shared with the others. Quiet bonding over sacrifice. By the time it was over the scenery had changed. The farms were on the horizon, a splash of green at the edges of the desert sand and rock. The men turned their heads to see, but otherwise remained seated.
He was the youngest, and his face showed his anticipation- he had never been to one of the cities before. Never witnessed the massive self-sustaining metropolis they were about to travel to. Instantly he knew he was being looked at, and was overcome with a calm reassurance. It wasn’t going to be long now- and he could see their glorious squalor for himself. “No, not long at all…” A voice spoke in his head with a grin.
A peek and he saw the wall, it was massive and extended as far as the eyes could see. Several voices had joined the first, all speaking terrible things to him. Whispers on the edge of his mind. He glanced at each man in turn, getting back a slow nod. They were dark, malicious and the closer they got- the stronger they became. Dusk was settling around them when they reached looming massive concrete. The engine died, and each man stood- stretching. A tunnel lay before them, a break in the wall. A team before them had already broken through the thick iron bars, a space just large enough for a single man.
The elder with greying hair handed out the torches, lighting each one as they were about to enter. A warm nod, and those grey eyes which cast away the voices for a second. He was starting to get a headache, screeches running through his mind. The small flowing river at his feet smelt stale, lazily lingering two inches deep. They walked until they came into a widening, where several streams from above condensed into one. The men helped each other up, taking a moment to rest.

They had set up camp for the deep in the sewer system. Small fires and thin blankets on the hard concrete. Whatever food they had was shared among them, although each man didn’t eat much. The voices had been plaguing them for a few hours at this point, and stomachs churned at the suggestions. The elder cleared his throat, and the others turned to face him. A long pause before he spoke, gently poking a fire with a stick. “In the morning we break camp, you all know that. You know your tasks, what each of your missions are. Be sure to check your watches, we need to be back here at dusk. That hits six-thirty by the clock.” He took his time with the next part, knowing it didn’t need said- but wanting to give it power. “We cannot wait for an individual, you knew the risks when you volunteered. The community will need us back as soon as we can. You know how to find agents within the walls should something happen, but the mission always comes first.” Nods of agreement made their away around the circle.
Another man reached deep into a pouch and brought out the caps to be passed around. “Golden teachers. We come asking for your knowledge, that it may help us in our tasks to come. Generations have feasted before us, and we hope to receive the same blessings. Thank you.” The elder bowed his head. Each man took as many as they needed, and slowly chewed the dry flesh. He took three, occasionally washing fragments down with water and bringing the bandanna down over his eyes. Nothing else needed to be spoken at this point, and each man took their time getting comfortable. He lay on his side, head propped on his arm and facing the flame. It warmed his face as the visions came to him. Fractals of color, bleeding in form. They started off with the ancient tales of those who came before him, the history of his tribe. They entranced him, the floating worlds in the void. The mushrooms reminded him of his death, which was yet to come- awaiting on a foreign horizon. They told him not to fear, and bound him in their warmth. Little details were given to him, telling of what was- of what could be. They took him where was needed, showed what they had deemed important.
He felt like he was melting into the world around him, as their organic death greeted him. The night ran long with his minds eye filled. Time had collapsed in the darkness, drawn out by these representations of his subconscious. At some point he was aware that the voices had left, replaced with the solely speaking fungi. He was filled with thanks and awe. By the time his mind was able to rest into sleep, he was ready for the day to come- a comfortable knowledge resting in his mind.

A new type of dreaming

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 22:59:01 -0500

He awoke with soft fluttering eyelids and long breaths. A moment spent stretching, preparing a fire. A spark and the beginnings of green tea. He sat quietly while it was prepared, closing his eyes. He filled two cups, and looked out into the rising sun- just starting to peek over the horizon. The stone hallway greeted him, and lead him to a steadily burning mass of candles- and one of the sleeping travelers. He brushed her hair behind an ear, and watched as her blue eyes greeted the earth- working their ways up to his. She rubbed her face, and sat up. Taking the cup of tea with a thanks.
“You dreamt last night.” The words invited her to tell her tale.
“I did. It was dark, a moonless night. I was outside wandering through the woods. I was looking for something, but I wasn’t quite sure what at first. The beginning is really fuzzy, soft as if it were covered in wool. Suddenly there was a clearing, and a stream. It wasn’t flowing rapidly, but I knew it had a strong undercurrent. I watched as a deer tried to cross, it struggled and as it reached the middle- was swept under the water. I didn’t see it after that, but I felt a warm assurance in my mind that it was alright. I felt a sense of gladness, relief- and the world brightened. No, that’s not quite right- it gained a sense of clarity.”
A nod, that motion to continue.
“You were sitting across the current, on a carved pillar. Your eyes opened and locked on mine, and I knew that I had to talk to you. You had whatever it was that I was searching for, and pieces of knowledge- these feelings just erupted in me. I was scared looking at stream, thinking of how to cross. I had seen what it had done, and wasn’t sure if I would make it. You stood up, and motioned with your arm. I panicked and didn’t know what to do, trying to turn away. But when I did the woods were gone- I was at the edge of the cliff into black nothingness. The world just ended.” She started shaking slightly, recalling every feeling and emotion.
He tilted his and and motioned for her to drink the tea.
“I had to turn back around, and this time you were sitting in lotus- hovering slightly above the pillar. Something had changed in you, and I couldn’t quite place it. I was in awe, and you started to shine- lighting up the dark night. It was dim at first, but the more that I started to watch- really watch, you started to glow more and more. I tried to shout out to you, but my voice was lost in the distance. The stream started flowing more rapidly, and it was steaming; boiling hot. Bubbles caught my attention, the way they popped in a splash and release of steam. Everything started going darker slowly until I looked back at you. At that point, I knew that it was my attention that was bringing the brightness- but it had to be on you. I felt slightly scared as I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Everything shifted though various focuses, something was forcing me to loose and gain attention of the world around me. It was you. When I wasn’t sure what was going on or why it was happening, I would get this feeling that I did- that all was alright. A sudden clarity where everything made sense. Its a weird feeling just thinking about it.” A sipping of tea, steam rolling across her face.
She was slow with her next words, trying to say them very carefully. “Now here we are, I think I’m beginning to understand what lay beyond the door which sits behind you.” His smile was genuine, and she could tell. Somehow she knew that it was still her time to speak. “I’m still not sure how I got here- or how I’ll ever be able to get back.”
He nodded his head in silent agreement, “It is not known how either- or at least for you. If it your choosing, you would find a way.”
That familiar flash of understanding lit up her eyes. “I’m glad I found it honestly, and I’ll try to again.”
His nod was one of thanks, with hands brought up from his lap. She got up, and turned around. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “Would you like to indulge in a parable?” His eyes remained closed until she was seated. And for a long while afterwards. She got uncomfortable, he could feel her shifting and worming across the candlelight. The flame flickered with her, matching her in rhythm until she glanced at it. It stopped dancing, and so did she; picking up a slight swaying. When her eyes shut- he started to speak.

Drawing deep

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 22:41:59 -0500

He worked throughout the night, bringing in the weary travelers. Those who were lost and confused, finding themselves at his door step. None could make it very far around him, deep sleep permeating their bones. The massive stone temple welcomed them, a brief respite from the heavy rain. There were many rooms, and many beds were filled as the night progressed- the rain never letting up. He worked until the light of the dawn crashed around him, spreading into the atrium where he sat meditating. It was his sign, and he wandered back into the hallways.
The room had a single candle, and only a thin straw mat on the floor. He knelt before the flame, and said a silent prayer of thanks before laying down and allowing his mind to drift. Images assaulted his mind, arrays of color against the blackness behind eyelids. He let his mind ride them, allowed himself to be delighted in their form. Letting them lead him where they may. So many walls put up between him and the others, and he wanted to weep. Cry himself into sleep as he had for so many nights. Strength poured through him as his body locked and the breathing seemed to stop in his chest. He felt nothing, the blackness permeating through him.
Gateways to dreams opened, and he shifted through them. Drawn deep into each one, he spent a few moments talking to someone- then left. After every dream he awoke locked in a cold sweat, not able to move. His body would shake, and he would be drawn downwards. He was walking a spiraled staircase, candle in hand. It burned bright against the blackness, casting aside shadows.
Finally, he became lost. He wandered relentlessly, absorbing all the details which lay before him. His mind was in overdrive, and he wasn’t sure if it were the right path. He would have to continue no matter what. Each step reverberated through the empty halls, blank walls staring at him. Suddenly he was in the labyrinth, that massive creation looming all around him. He drew a hand against the stone, its roughness scratching his skin. Spare moments were indulging in its creation. A difficult endeavor, the creation of a labyrinth. Minute details of the stone, the reflection from the light of his candle- the shadows it cast. Vast and ever shifting it was always running by default in his mind. He had spent so many ages wandering it to its depths- erupting in ecstatic states of vision along the way. The world would collapse around him, shifting into something else. And he would begin once more outside its entrance.
Always starting outside- those walls stretching to the edge of vision. Stone archway high overhead, each carved rock placed carefully. Each was a masterpiece, telling stories if you listened- the histories of lifetimes long past. Different worlds waiting to suck you in, begging to be experienced. The first trap. He had known all the stones, the places where they would lead. He had constructed each one. One had to remain detached, or else you would be constantly pulled in. Just enough stability to tempt and end the world. To begin anew.
The candle was waiting, flickering slightly with an orange blaze. Another point of entrance, a slow burning amidst the darkness. Dripping of hot wax. He chose to truly feel each step as it was created, awe filling him to the brink. The near shedding of a tear, water heavy in his eyes. So much devoted to become lost in the moment.
When the tear fell, the world shifted for a second into a brief flash of pain. Red walls carved from sufferings. That remembrance filled him. It stuck into his heart, ripping and tearing flesh. Not sure where it would lead, he chose to follow. It wasn’t a path often took, and wasn’t exactly liked. He still had to walk it sometimes. A different sort, one didn’t feel worlds- but an interjection of pain deep into the heart and soul. The sufferings of all human beings, nay all sentient life. It was old, and in need of repair. Not enough time was spent here lately, the walls seeming to crumble. They were the first walls which he had built, his own method of building compassion. A school and a prison- it forced his growth from the inside. Made him confront his inner fears, his own sense of pain. Some part of him hoped that he could move past it, but its ghost lingered.
He wasn’t quite alone in his journey- he could feel his death linger behind him. See the rotting flesh in the tattered robes. Yellowing bone which pointed the way. A prodding with the scythe if he thought he was going too slow. A moment waiting outside, and he took a deep breath. He had to work with his breath more, grounding himself. Had to have some sort of balance for the pain. A spike through his heart, those relentless stabbings. Longing for death, the void- it never quite coming. That sickly smell of his breath, quiet laughing words. “Not yet.” An opening of eyes, and standing outside once more. No matter what death had said, he knew that part of him had died in some manner when the world ended. Could feel the ghost in the stone. His heart grew hard, one more thing he would need to undo. Breath- an invitation of pain, grotesque visions. His soul wanted to scream and cry- but he was writhing around, unable. He could barely catch his breath now, falling into a black hole. He couldn’t hold on- trying, an ever trying. Muscles tensed, and he wasn’t sure what was happening. Fear filled him, warping his vision- deep down inside him, hurting as it ripped though his guts. Rapid breaths, shallow- he was shaking, couldn’t control his body.
He had to stop. Another death. Invitation to try again. Slow numbing- forced thoughts and detestable visions plagued his mind. Sick happenings which he couldn’t rid himself of. Gagging in pain, he started to puke- dry heaves curling up his body. Perversions invading with a deep sickening in his gut. He fought through as long as he could, holding onto the pain like an old friend in a warm embrace. The feelings shifted, darker sinister hauntings. Blood and gore ran through his third eye, and he feared for a moment that he was actually creating these worlds. That’s when death came again, this time holding his hand firmly.
An odd smile from decomposed lips, the voice was deep and gurgling. Shivers ran up and down the spine. “We are going for a journey, you won’t quite remember when you awake- but you’ll know what it means.”

NaNo Beginnings

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 12:25:12 -0500

Well, here goes nothing. Its the first time I’m trying this- and hopefully can eventually compose some sort of plot. Input is greatly appreciated.

The sun was setting, casting pink shadows through the windows. He stuck his head out, watch the clouds drift past- dark and heavy with rain. The night was going to be long, they told him-spoke with their form. He sighed as he felt water splash on his out held hand. Back inside to the fireplace where he added another log. The dancing of the flames and a slow entrenching trance. He became lost in his mind, occasionally adding wood out of habit. At one point, he had almost broke free- but it slowly faded away, drifting from his thoughts. Rain began to fall heavily outside, with the occasional thunder- that shaking of the skies. As the wind picked up, cold began to seep deep into his bones.
An old teapot, carefully filled. A small handful of herbs put in, slow boil. He had made more tea than usual, and decided to use a warming herbal blend. He was already at the door when the knock came, cup of tea carefully in hand. Three heavy poundings, they shook the door and fell short as it swung open. Shivering in a dark hood, he invited her in with a few spoken and quiet words.
“Here, drink this- it shall help.” She was sniffling, and slowly sipped.
A confused word of thanks, the flavors catching in her throat with a cough. She gazed into the carved wooden cup, starting to get lost in the designs. Suddenly her eyes locked on his, which were waiting at the ready. A long moment where he acquainted himself with those swirling blue pools. “Where am I? What is this?”
He coughed briefly and a clearing of the throat, “You know that cannot be answered yet dear. Soon you shall know without my telling”
“But… Who are you?’ Her words were sluggish, drawn out. Eyes still locked, she saw and felt a retching pain. Instantly she was sobbing, little hiccups and rolling tears.
“Sip your tea dear, it’ll help.” Next came anger- she threw the cup, clattering against the wall with a splash. Words were caught in her throat, hateful yellings which were held back. Clenching her fist, she took a step- and her demeanor changed. A rush over to pick it up the thrown cup, regret of her actions. “No worries dear, I’ll get you another- lets go back to the room. It is already waiting.”
She sniffed, a small smile graced her lips-“Okay.” She was suddenly shy and sheepish, playfully flirting in her movements. Fingers teased her hair, looping around and around. Another cup, handed carefully. She wanted to take his hand, he could feel her thought pulling at the edge of his mind. He turned to face her, and she moved in close. Pressing her body into his, her breath was at his neck. He let out a long sigh, grabbed her hand- and lead her through a winding passage. He moved briskly, and she had trouble keeping up with him. Right when she was going to ask to stop to catch her breath, they stopped infront of a stone archway. Drawn in, she released his hand and took careful steps inside. Windowless, the stone walls cast shadows from the candles burning lazily in the the middle of the room. Dozens burning on pilliars, a wide space on the floor in between them. He guided her down to the awaiting pillows, and the arrangements of thick blankets. Her eyes instantly closed, and fell over.
“Stay up a while longer my dear.” He helped her sit up, back against a thick stone pillar. He brushed hair out of her face, velvet locks trapped behind her ears.
“I… remember…” Eyelids fluttering, they caught on a candle flame and stayed there. She brought the tea to her lips, felt the warmth as it flowed down her throat- its spice biting her lips.
“Be careful. The time is short.” He sat across from her, pulling out a small glass vial. A thick green oil poured onto fingers, he began to rub her temples with firm circles. It may have been too much, he wasn’t quite sure that she was ready yet. He could feel her pain coming on, spreading into him. “The drink my dear, take a sip. Feel as it goes down your throat, all the way down to your stomach. The heat is all that there is.’ It drove hurt away for a moment, hovering and waiting still needing to be faced.
His breath was steady, and it was the only sound she heard. She opened her eyes lips parted, she spoke with an utmost clarity. “I’m not sure where to go, or why. The maze fills my mind and I cannot find my way out. Everything feels as if its closing in on me and will collapse in a moment.” The words became slurred at the end, a slow closing of the eyes- and he gently guided her down onto her side. “I’m not sure that I can still handle this.” Taking the cup from her hands, he kissed her forehead- and said a quick prayer.
As if that’s what it could be called. The words themselves were meaningless, their intent was everything. He blew out a single candle, carefully pouring a drop of hot wax into a bowl and lining it up with the others standing at attention on the shelves lining the back wall. Suddenly he felt thick salty tears well up in his eyes, like letting them unleash in a torrent down his face. He knew her pain, with every breath he was feeling it fill his soul deeper. He eased himself down, pulling legs across one another in lotus- and pulled up his hood over his head. A hand reached out and caressed the cold stone that was the floor. Eyelids locked, and he shut the world out. Breaths became infinity, and he sat up. With slow movements he rose and made his way across the room. He would come back to her soon, another visitor was coming to the door- and he had to compose himself.

Let my words flow, steaming at the base of your neck quiet truths burning in your ears words that...

Wed, 31 Oct 2012 13:53:27 -0400

Let my words flow, steaming at the base of your neck

quiet truths burning in your ears

words that I’ll commit to

portions of my soul.

They linger, and they burn

may scar and hurt.

Warnings of the pain of attachment.

of what it can do

to me- to you

Our souls can burn bright

Together we can shine.

byproduct of cause and effect

Tue, 30 Oct 2012 22:56:00 -0400

Self note: flesh out concepts more, the mind runs and runs- its associations are not necessarily available to all.

His perspective was always in a shifting raging flux, he was teaching it to remain open- to embody that of others to the fullest extent. Most importantly he was teaching it to grow. It had already been learned that perspective is everything, our view is all we have in this strange universe. He was trying to give a glimpse of this perspective, the view behind his eyes. Pages will bleed out truth, others only existing in the realm of thoughts; that land of ideas and concepts which flow through the blood brain barrier. He gave them life, bringing them onto existence with a steady held pen. A concrete voyage with a boat of metaphors. A glimpse into the exploration of consciousness, a way to see it manifest from the concept of the self.

Difficult to understand at first, he lost himself in the labyrinth that his mind created. Twist and turns as thought warped through various permutations. It was constructed by experiences force fed and volunteerly chosen. That energetic conditioning which creates a point of view, molded into a particular mode of desire. It was all he had, only knowing ultimately what was shown to him. He had learned the construction of a personal reality, and was attempting to dismantle his reactions. Trying to take control from the ground up, creating worlds in the imagination. No experience can said to be falsification, no one viewpoint can be manifested to the fullest degree. His was a persistent method to mold his to a choosing of his own accord, and to dismantle the mold given to him. Passed down through generations, the mold was slowly burned into DNA- memes and mutations a part of survival. Layers built upon simple awareness as humanity grew throughout the ages, being trained into a mode of thought. Father Nucleic Acid fought back, unleashing its full potential- unlocking hidden strings of amino acids changing the minds of men. Strands activated, and humanity felt itself facing the beginnings of a change- one coming to a metabolizing peak.

The model for an individual universe, DNA holds all the information which creates our physical selves. That microcosm of the entirety of whats known and unknown, the extents of reality- the macrocosm. An indefinitely long string of acids and proteins, the building blocks of life becoming aware that it can change itself. The great double helix, the spiral ladder which must be climbed to order to evolve.
Floating around the flat universe, he studied the sciences of his fellow man in order to survive and find an explanation for himself. Steadily learning more, he traveled a spiral multiverse- an infinite swirling vortex. It was a strange loop containing every possibility, every permutation with the potential to occur. Knowledge was miniscule compared to the vastness which loomed before him. A drop in an electromagnetic ocean, pure energy of which he was simply the smallest fraction. Vibrational patterning operating on frequencies limiting true perception. A limited band which humanity is able to tap into, a failure to know what lay beyond. At the purest forms we exist beyond the dual nature of particle and wave- we simply exist. Forgotten potential laying within the energy which composes us. Another layer of the self, perceivable upon training.

No longer is the ability to view pure energy an innate one. Obliterated abilities by the passage of time and the mold of mind. An attempt to re-grasp, “reactivate” those abilities of perception. Spiraling webs of information, light filled with knowledge. Bright enough to bypass the typical perceptions of space and time. Irrelevant in the latent brightness, they collapse into solely the here and now. An energetic fractal, with time as the representation of forward propulsion of bodies physically across the other illusion: space.

A brief history of quantum physics studies show that what we have deemed the physical is mostly just empty space. Masses of protons and neutrons surrounded by that ever shifting potential electron cloud. Potential being of course the key word in this instance. This empty space is cemented by our minds habituated notions of what reality “should be” into the unyielding physical realm seen.
Energy changed into a vague mass, which actually is empty space brimming with minute particles imparting a physical construct. Getting smaller and smaller, every layer vibrating faster than the last. Shedding skin, loosing the strict physical laws of the slower heavier bodies. Transference into a waveform function, until observation and the collapse. The current pinnacle: conscious control of the subconscious abilities forgotten. A path took by few, and he was ready to sacrifice everything. Ready to fall, before he spread his wings and flew. Heading out into the unknown, blackness was the only company.

Pain and discontent, slowly breeding contempt. It caused him to grow, develop the traits needed. Without the pushing and prodding of the external, in whatever its form- we wouldn’t evolve. Change or die, the choice has been with us since before the origins of time. He wanted to take full control, and only now is it starting to happen. Only now are we ready. It had started off with that tempting urge. Something beyond the conveniences of modern life, something greater was calling. Here for a reason, it started to seek him out- past what he had learned was important in life. Past the distractions, he saw much. It sat patiently waiting for him, wanting acknowledgement. Looming on the edge of thought, it was always ready for engagement.

He combated it a long time, ignoring it as it invaded his body- sickening him. Deluded until the house of cards came crashing down. He learned to watch it fall, why it did so- and the art of rebuilding. Always rebuilding, until it is no longer needed. If it were ever a day which could be reached.

A drive

Wed, 18 Jul 2012 17:16:33 -0400

His eyes crawled the road ahead of him- seeing naught but desolation. Abandoned and rotting buildings with windows shattered- gaping holes with sharp glass teath leading into blackness stared back at him as he slowly drove along the winding road. Society in all its former glory had been taken back by nature in this place; vines left free to climb up dirty brick, trees cracking the the concrete with their roots, a layer of dirt caking everything he saw. Any inhabitants were long gone, left when whatever resource had been fully raped from the ground. The wind began to pick up, carrying fallen leaves to an unknown destination. Red and orange decay just drifting. It caught his eye for a moment; and he wished to have freedom as the leaves did- to travel wherever the wind decided to take him. To loose the seemingly meaningless tasks he had no choice but to partake in.

All he knew is that he was going to meet someone here. Someone who would lead him to his next destination- to inform him of his next task. He had long passed the point of being tired; so long he had traveled his path, fighting the harshness of reality and searching for a refuge. There never seemed to be escape. He had lived for eons, his existence predating mankind- traversing back to the birth of the stars. Long before any physical form, he was here- watching and learning, ultimately trying to prove himself. He had done these great and terrible deeds- created life, worlds and galaxies; and he was never sedated.

In black velvet

Wed, 18 Jul 2012 17:05:15 -0400

Floating on a sea of black velvet, he had lost his goal. The ink pen ran smooth, kept running- spouting inanities if it must. He had to keep it moving, until the trance took over. Until the words ran by themselves without his cognizant knowledge, until his blood bled with the ink onto the crisp paper.
Another start, that by the general literacy rules must tie in the with the last- wil this do? Why do we as beings always follow a particular dictionary plan when constructing the realm of the intangibles to the realm of symbols? It is ingrained within us to such a degree that we cannot shake it? Constantly chasing us, high speed near destined for failure?
Pause. Rewind.
It makes no sense to neither you nor I, but I blame the fault on not giving it the attention it deserves. Re-read that last sentence. Take every word slow and truly savor it, they are treasures to behold. A picture may say a thousand words; but a single word can capture a thousand thoughts. But it never does it quite well enough. For there is no way to give you my perspective wholly, just filtered through these symbols. Can they ever embody their true value? Not by a long shot. Just interpretations floating without the attachment.
I can’t show you the territory- not quite yet, not how I see it. But I do have a map, a glorious and vain construction. It gives you a glimpse, a sight. I wish you could see it all.
You will. In your own way.
We all do.
Eventually.

We’ll jump to another portion of mind, another pice of time and space. Anywhere we land is...

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 12:04:00 -0400

We’ll jump to another portion of mind, another pice of time and space. Anywhere we land is exactly what the moment requires, a task to be accomplished or of something to learn. Gain all the knowledge we can fromt he vastness of a potential infinite universe. Another form, another life to be explored. Third density is a pain at times, but some lessons must be learned within the physical- otherwise they have no meaning.

Overall, the syllabus seemed easy enough- to learn the path following light and love. They are never truly in absence, but may be faded between the mists of darkness- a fog devouring what is.

The main conundrum lies within the fact, that in a seemingly infinite universe realm who’s goal is to experience itself subjectively- is it solely for the self to grow? As in, are all other beings as fully conscious as I, or are they cells acting on reprogrammed commands?

As if I were not a product, a re-hashing of all I’ve seen…

I would suppose that the point ultimately is moot, for I must continue to learn and grow- yet it always seems to gnaw at the back of my mind. Mainly because I desire to teach, and have it absorbed. But what if I am the only student, what knowledge can be shared that is of any value? Only information which attributes personal growth.

When shall I regrow my wings and surpass this earth? Why must I still rely on the teachings and symbols of man, faulty in their own regards? I don’t feel human- for how can the extent of my being be fit down and compressed into a symbol? One which is an extolment of limitation?

It can’t, and far too often I confuse the map for the actual territory. There is so much conflicting knowledge out there as to my origins. Why do I view it even as my origins, when I do not fully understand the extent of “being?” I know that I am not simply this physical form, for I have been outside of it- viewed it at an angle not comprehensible if the true sense of self is in its limitations. I also know that I am not what I consider my mind- for that is reducible to energetic patterned symbols. Am I simply pure, indefinite energy at my core? What ever that would mean beyond man’s simplistic symbolism?

I need another being to engage, to bounce ideas back and forth- yet I am still so reliant on this physical illusion. I know, as energetic fact, that telepathy is possible. It is a simply merging of relatable frequencies resulting in merging of feeling. And yet, I am still so hesitant- for I know not what is a product of ego, and what is a product of the various physical forms that are a manifestation of self.

Then again, isn’t it all just manifestations of consciousness? Why shouldn’t one be able to operate on the particular frequency of another being? All one must do is learn the “others” frequencies, and explore together. A connection must be built up.

What shall stain the page with metaphorical wisdom? Words fell short of intention, displaying only a...

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 10:57:49 -0400

What shall stain the page with metaphorical wisdom? Words fell short of intention, displaying only a faux interpretation of ultimate meaning. They drifted in and out, and he struggled to coerce their conformity to a given system. We struggle so much to connect, to share our being, that we would do anything for that feeling of true understanding and acceptance by another. Yet- why were his connections given to the page? An impersonal blank sheet slowly filling with splashes of ink. Was that his fate- to be ultimately addicted utterly to the pen and the forms which flew forth?

He took his time to sacrifice a dear ally that was tobacco; inhaling its death in a grey fog, he rightened his spine with a cracking as vertebrae snapped back into place. A long sigh left lips, a long exhale of darkness. He and the page were merging once more, the distinctions of border dissolving around him. Writings began alluding to that sense of self, petitioning to become who he had deemed he was. The wall sprang up in metaphors- the one that was built up around and portioned with that vague sense of self, creation of a realm he was afraid to commit to and confront. The linguistic prison which masked his views. Yet it allowed the ability to connect and shape the world to his desire, ultimately creating his perceptions.

A thought drifted within the confines of mind, it flashed brightly yet briefly upon vision as a white light- “Are you dreaming?” It faded quickly, energy dispersing into the environment- sharpening his senses. It struck him as odd, and mind protested as a finger pressed deep into the inside of his palm.

A voice screamed out from the abyss and stuck thought- “What if you refuse to acknowledge the truth that we are all portions of a dreamer dreaming?”

A spectral energy appeared, separating from the core of being- a lean black figure with striking ivory horns. They entrapped his visualizations until his body automatically spoke; “What about our third dimensional limitations?”

Angels and demons are the same, equal in their knowledge and wisdom; its the application which created the difference in our minds. Typical interpretations handed down to us after generation upon generation. Darkness and light are one, two halves of a whole being- yet we have been taught to extol the exasperation. Another illusion.

A subconscious interpretation visually appearing was aghast at the logical conclusion, it dispersed its energy into the rest of the universe- entanglement in light.

Drifting in and out of universes and conceptions, the spirit of ethanol had allowed him so that detachment allowed what perception deemed to become the totality of reality, odd contradictions embodied at their fullest form.

A peak sustainable by appearances of the moment.

Another long breath with slow closing of the eyes.

When he opened them again- he was no longer in that place that he came, although he could feel it on the fringes of his being. He was sitting in darkness- a single candle casting shadows across the void.

The flame was bright, dancing somehow in the absence of wind. Shadows cast, they started whispering to him. They spoke little lies he knew they could not manifest in a sustainable level- he had tested them after all.

One should never take their illusions of knowledge for granted- and always test their bounds. Their words slowly warped and twisted his mind in this place outside of time. Generations passed with their seething and false promises. It slowly tortured his soul as he felt himself lapse to the brinks of sanity, letting the darkness fill his being until only a speck of light remained- one he had almost forgotten about.

Whenever strife had appeared, an ugly rearing head who would attempt to threaten the emotional grasp of reality- he shook it off and consulted his death. A comfort of existence sparked when he could feel the heavy blackness breathing on his neck and the tip of a scythe combing through his long mangled hair. Sickly sweet breath barely audible on his neck-

“Not yet…”

A raggedly black mass would block out the sun for a nanosecond- cultural impartations into a visual representation. Death had assisted through many experiences, always changing- multifaceted for any situation.

Like others, the first appearance was was startling. It began deep in his gut- a black hand squeezing and darkening his life. It dug claws into vital flesh, slowly turning over and over while fear bled out into his entire being. He found himself folded over a toilet, gagging on watery vomit- whole form ablaze. Tears streamed carving a river down his cheeks and he struggle to remain sitting upright.