Monday, October 22, 2012

Stagnant Pools

I'm staring at the ceiling. I'm staring at the wall. I'm watching the watchers through a cloud of perfume-laden smoke. I am the gargoyle, staring in blank observation while my brain slowly spirals down the merry path of paranoia. Strange, this situation I find myself in. I can hear the echos of whispers in the dark coiling through the canals and sinking it's icy claws into every neural fiber. Walk away, run away, hide, peek through the tiny hole in the box. Instinctual tendencies combined with muscular memory forge a path through the abyss, that from an outside perspective seems pretty well adjusted and convincing. I have absorbed enough knowledge to get by. A lot of what I know about the real world tends to appear as if it is consumed by syrupy haze that splatters to the edges of my consciousness.

I'm walking down a garden path. I'm asking questions of the universe that no one or no thing really wants to answer. I know somewhere within that it isn't anything personal. Some questions simply have no answers. Confusion loves company. Mass confusion attracts those with good intentions and while the road to hell is being paved, I can only stand idle and wish I wasn't just as bat shit confused. There are slight moments in time where I can understand the whole of everything and appreciate the state of confusion that invades my daily space. It's the only reason why I don't wake up screaming.

I am sitting on the edge of a giant petri dish. I'm on the outside looking in while at the same time staring at myself through a high powered telescope. Sometimes I converge and switch places while exchanging small but significant bits of information. Part of me wants to hop on to a different train. This train seems to be chasing the wrong rabbit.

Wake up, wake up, it's time to quit the world of slumber. Real life tends to take on the surreal quality of dreams while dreams tend to absorb the movements of the waking world. Conversations filter through conversions and end up lost in translation. The ends of my brain become numb as the lines blur and fade into patterns within patterns. I could spend a significant amount of time explaining this to people who permanently exist within commonly accepted consciousness but I often find that I can't make much sense of it myself.

A single pill here, a harmless injection there. Bad food, bad water with a side of manipulation. I'm addicted to the poison because it makes me feel alive while at the same time is contributing to my drop by drop suicide. I don't subscribe to many common poisons which I'm told makes me dangerous. In reality, it simply means I've researched the situation before diving into the pool. The problem with any kind of feel good brain manipulation is that the feeling of sublime contentment and acceptance of the universe is incredibly and profoundly addictive. Temptation points a tendril in my direction and beckons me to check out on a permanent basis. Most of the time, temptation is easy to ignore because the world I am trying to escape constrains my methods.

There is joy in flying through pleasure while diving through pain. The roller coaster is a constant reminder that time and space won't stop to let anyone breathe. There are times when I want to completely give in to the overwhelming urge to activate a permanent flight response. There are times where the whole experience seems worthwhile. The problem starts when the two sides refuse to talk to each other. The resulting mania on two magnetic emotional opposites is taxing, but I wouldn't want my universe to operate any other way.