Perhaps human existence is some form of an extended puzzle? A persistent ongoing experience where one picks up clues, . . . or not! Take the meaning of their being seriously, or not. And realizes, often too late, that society is naught but a false pattern superimposed upon the opposite of chaos. Which it is! In the wooded dale, and up and down the trail, leading to the rabbit hole where nary a decent gopher is dare to tread. The hidden knowledge of this universe, as far and deep as your own mind can be allowed to fathom. A phantom playground of the unbounded psyche. Or some other insubstantial ‘pat‘ term that hardly describes other realms. Far past the efface of words inabilities to envision any other than those who coined them. A randy ramshackle shack on the edge of that far off metropolis full of thoughts of those kind that others might call mad.
That same old view, ad infinitum every night, without exception leaving one to query, what is behind it all? Time being no impediment to prevent knowing how it had originally been congealed to become implanted in the first place. The unscientific babbling’s of this madman! No doubt engendered by a component of THC suffered unwillingly from those serial cannabis smoker’s down below. The rational order of thoughts in ever constant peril of wishing to surrender to that empty vacuum of mindlessness. A constant problem on the order of being lost to other forms of chaos bound regions. The immediate notion of surrendering to these most unimaginable forms of treatment as a conquered slave bound by your enemy; the same one who would seem all too amenable to the notion of flaying one fully alive and aware. Those tendrils of smoke in the updraft curling about me like an unfaithful lovers arms. Entreating me to surrender all! Something that I know I will rue in the morning. A strange cringe worthy grinding sound suddenly in the unit below. Are they processing the bones of some other former unlucky soul? How interesting that this night offers an ability to believe in what would during the day ahead be unbelievable. That same unknown part of Hell that I would too soon at this point in time, now sympathetically drugged, willingly surrender to.
The beast within moves about. I takes on my visage and plays out the expected pretense of blood thirstiness. Yet who is the victim, and who is the beast, in this impotent act? To which demon god must I surrender my soul to appease it?
I was in small town rural America. And I was supposed to meet Derelle. Somehow we had broken apart? So and so forth. But something did happen. And I was going to see her. And I tried to take the car to find her, and I couldn’t find her. Somewhere along the way I lost the car so I found a railroad bridge across the Mississippi and I kind of high tailed it going through tunnels to get to the bridge to get to the other side. Little by little I lost everything I had and suddenly found by myself to be naked. So seeing another couple of guys ahead in similar circumstance I squatted back down and looked the other way. Following along at a safe distance keeping my head down.
And now found myself at an intersection of an antique area in the dead of night following the street below upon a parapet until it opened up into what seemed a parking lot. Something within causing me to mark the shadows moving ahead down the sidewalk across and below. Suddenly startled by a voice that issued from a large opening revealing an antique shop exposing two levels cascading below. The owner becoming militant and chewing me out for daring to set my presence upon his roof. “What are you doing?“, he cried shaking his fist at me, “Get the Hell out!” I trying to be civil but he wouldn’t take it. And I staring back down at him suddenly embarrassed by my own nakedness. Looking past the levels at the fact of a formal celebration with his guests milling about completely oblivious of my presence. At some point I was down within this place as he returned with his girlfriends who were supposed to kick my ass.
A faux fight between us ensued. One in which I had no intention of hitting either of them. Fending them off with feints in shadow boxing moves. And they came up to me and we all let bygones be bygones as the rest of them had seen I wasn’t such a bad guy after all. And they invited me to join their party. And there in the corner was my keyboard. The owner of the place proved to be an excellent piano player as he played along with his son.
At some ten minutes to twelve on a Saturday night, the quietest in history, let me impart some blasphemy to the conversation. The doom and gloom offered by the potential conflict that looms ahead has threatened that vast majority with the potential on an early death. Not a sure death, but the fear of death. Two separate things! Increasingly, the fear of death seems to have no teeth, in promising the reality of death in what it has touted. It has been used as an excuse to drive people forward in alarm en masse like a herd of cattle. To say this with conviction is the social definition of blasphemy itself! But given the circumstances which are oddly geared towards me. I am beginning to wonder if I am not god and this is all a holographic show? Something that has nothing to do with a general sense of reality, but rather a philosophical conundrum. One that is brought to some veracity prone to resemble inflexible truth. That all the cast and characters in this present nightmare are merely a figment of my imagination which begs the question, “Really, am I . . .?” But what’s the purpose of this journey? A holographic exercise? Or more? It all seems completely possible.
For some reason I was transported to L.A. into a deep dark room, possibly a basement, where a movie shoot was going on in the next room. A place that had a distinct affinity with a Medieval dungeon. Somebody came in and said the star, there was a problem. The star, or somebody, that was getting hostile or aggressive. Possibly, homicidal! I figured it was a family member, at this point still not realizing that it was a film shoot. Thee was a conversation that ensued which brought with it a certain degree of drama. One couldn’t tell if it was based on an issue of production. Certainly one of getting everyone’s ‘ducks in a row‘ to continue production! Or something more mischievous? In any case, I was invited to the next room that showed evidences of dawn. In fact, the Sun had come up already. And I took my place at the side of the room and ended up laying there listening to all the commotion. And, back and forth, having been first of all addressed by what I took to be the madman who could have been in makeup, almost completely naked. But someone who looked like he had rolled in a pile of mud for half a hundred years. The conversation went on. The main character at the center of it being hard to deal with. Speaking all sort of craziness in veiled threats. An I lay there, ready to evacuate my position, and move on. At one point, when asked to move, and I slid back against the wall. And finally I was asked to leave, in so many words, by the star. Unfortunately, I felt paralyzed, almost unable to move at all. It was as if I was traveling between two worlds shifting gears with what flesh and physical incorporation I had. But slowly, by inches, I managed to move over to the back of the basement. Or whatever this place really was? And at this point, I walked around the room. A theatrical aspect of a different nature now ending up in quiet. It was almost as if everybody was having a break to eat and converse. Well, this went one, and on, and on. Mentally, I started seeing scenes from different parts of the movie. In fact, at one point, I felt as if I had been plunged into the deepest part of the ocean. I was sinking down to some bottom level going to some undiscovered movie set there.
At some point I got out of the whole area and went back to normal reality. Or, such as one could possibly conceive of in Los Angeles at any given time of the day or night. And now I was, well . . ., could have been rooftops or modern architecture? But I was making my way across same. And wondering what had occurred? And now, for some reason, I had embodied the same person who was the star, and was being asked to be part of this production? Which seemed quite odd to me! I wasn’t going to put on airs or act the part that seemed to be the center of focus. I had taken over the role of whatever madman with whatever identity? But I seemed to know the scenario, and well . . ., was wondering where the heck reality was, and so forth? In the end, I was caught up in another discussion with another group of people that essentially were in the film business. Wondering what the Hell, any of this . . .? Not just what it was about but what was the purpose. I walked into another section there, following somebody. And they initially spoke to a man who could have been from Scotland originally. He owned the premises that the other person who was talking as if he wanted to either rent or buy the place. Some figures were tossed about. Five figures? Something under a million dollars. A lot of negotiation was going on by hesitation. So a person came in with a lithograph that was initially on the ground on a pallet. And they picked it up and took it around to the floor. And the next section was very leaky and wet. It must have been where the previous production, where they had originally brought me in, was. For some reason, I picked up one while they were talking in the corner. One of the lithographs and walked around trying to find a dry area to put it down to give it a full investigation. Seeing that, yes, in many was it was a good work of art. But in many ways, there were areas lacking. Half-finished or otherwise! And I brought it back in because, god forbid! I had gotten it wet!
Now I am getting chills as if there is another presence here. And there very well might be!
Is this a crossover, a carry over from another place? Maybe my true identity was revealed to me? Maybe the true, behind the scenes banal play that is my life, was revealed? Somehow the universe is some strange film company. A bizzaro nature that no one seems to be able to understand. Like a Fellini move! Everything seems to center around conversations that at face values make no sense. That have an inner dialogue and inner purpose that no one seems capable of revealing. Where I am sitting right now, laying right now, half-asleep, my eyes open, having brought back to that enduring non-stop reality, looking at the shadows on the ceiling. And comparing them to the grotesque stormy nature of the clouds outside. I have to wonder? Is this some kind of film set where the action is in play? And I am the main character? Someone that has gotten so much into the part that I can’t see the deus ex machina of lights, and camera, and those other studio professionals helping to keep the production alive. Just like the dream!
Why does this go on? This interminable production! What does it all mean? Who is going to see it? Or will it just flop and end up as so much useless acetate on the cutting room floor? A shadow on the ceiling looks like the popular impression of a space alien, except the thumb’s been cut off. Two tendril-like fingers extend from the palm at the end of a disembodied arm. The light has come in looking like a small explosion. As if somehow, the clouds as seen in negative space belie a massive dust cloud composed of what was an organized civilization that has been blown upwards leaving nothing but its destruction far below. Essentially a script of a movie in a larger context had not been explained. Mud, and dirt, and dust, and chaos, characterizing everything. As I have just explained. Perhaps one wonders why they have awakened wondering why everything is such? For everything goes wrong. It’s because everything has become hollowed and set where the director keeps changing his mind. And the star keeps fighting to take over the role of the director. And everybody else holds tight to their particular job description. And won’t give up and inch by being silent while seemingly ready to fulfill any task as expected in that industry. And, I feel like a wreck! All my nerves shattered as if somebody had died. Early to have been pulled from reality to another. I wonder if I have visited some portion of myself that has gone mad? And I wonder, as in one time when I was a child in high school if anything was real or just a bunch of movie sets? Where if, at the wrong time, one walked through an entrance or exit you would find a studio beyond that classroom door? Well, here it is! I wonder if I cover my eyes again, will I go back into that room? It’s hard to tell! It’s hard to tell whatever scenarios that you want to pick, if any of this makes any logical sense at all? Because, quite frankly, I’m not sure it does!