02/16/04
I wake from a dream, although I'm not entirely sure that's what it was. Maybe it's my perspective that is being altered but it seems these dreams are just moments of unexistence. A few hours a night and in the morn you're feeling as fictional as you were the day before.
I feel like I may be damaging my host but according to the reports I'm receiving, it seems as if I have his full support. I finally begin to feel the tiniest hope of purpose or guidance.
The car has been psychoactively cut off from this plane of existence and is merging with another where someone so very familiar lies on a bed typing words and listening to music. We have reached an understanding it seems and the mission, although just as obscure as ever, now seems somehow refined.
I think god has spoken to me, or rather reached out to me and given me knowledge of the end.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
THE TOWER OF BRAHMA: Chapter 3 - Fictional, Untruths, Lies
02/16/04
I've been sleeping, cocooned in a fetal position for the entire night, in my car at rest stops. I began driving north and now am no longer sure of my location. I've been eating at different spots along the road and spent the days reading and people watching.
Amazing places, these snippets of an elevated reality. A between place no more firmly rooted in the limitations of objective reality than the amusement parks of the world. Of course, rest stops are a more pure form of unreality. From day to day I see all manner of people engaged in all kinds of acts, their stop here just a bump along the road to their destination that lies just beyond the moment. A tomorrow return to the lives they knew or the boundless potential of a promise of a new life, in a new temporal location.
These places are simmering mirages, basking in the wavy bends of light and heat, a place that is but a footnote in your life story, a fraction of the mind spent on remembering its details which seem to slip from your grasp the more you try to hold on to them. Rest stops are out of phase with objective reasoning, as are all places of power and mystery. There the land still has the upper hand, defining itself beyond our limited grasp of its identity and role in the cosmic theatre.
It's in the parking lots of these unplaces, where I find myself recalling the moments where my mind would link with the greater mind of One. Where I would shake off my shell, flowing on the bonds of electromagnetic wavelengths, and otherwise deviating from norm perspective.
A malevolent tumor of cancerous imagination cells built up a power of personality that was so strong because of its disuse that once the connection with the higher powers was established, and the culture conformity viewer program was befuddled with the mantra of obscure madness (pure psycholaxative chaos haikus born of the moment), it had run for the nearest exit never looking back or wondering why. The program was running in the background, searching for a hook, which would allow systemic processing of the poetic-meme-deconstruction of my personae.
My life is a lie.
I've been sleeping, cocooned in a fetal position for the entire night, in my car at rest stops. I began driving north and now am no longer sure of my location. I've been eating at different spots along the road and spent the days reading and people watching.
Amazing places, these snippets of an elevated reality. A between place no more firmly rooted in the limitations of objective reality than the amusement parks of the world. Of course, rest stops are a more pure form of unreality. From day to day I see all manner of people engaged in all kinds of acts, their stop here just a bump along the road to their destination that lies just beyond the moment. A tomorrow return to the lives they knew or the boundless potential of a promise of a new life, in a new temporal location.
These places are simmering mirages, basking in the wavy bends of light and heat, a place that is but a footnote in your life story, a fraction of the mind spent on remembering its details which seem to slip from your grasp the more you try to hold on to them. Rest stops are out of phase with objective reasoning, as are all places of power and mystery. There the land still has the upper hand, defining itself beyond our limited grasp of its identity and role in the cosmic theatre.
It's in the parking lots of these unplaces, where I find myself recalling the moments where my mind would link with the greater mind of One. Where I would shake off my shell, flowing on the bonds of electromagnetic wavelengths, and otherwise deviating from norm perspective.
A malevolent tumor of cancerous imagination cells built up a power of personality that was so strong because of its disuse that once the connection with the higher powers was established, and the culture conformity viewer program was befuddled with the mantra of obscure madness (pure psycholaxative chaos haikus born of the moment), it had run for the nearest exit never looking back or wondering why. The program was running in the background, searching for a hook, which would allow systemic processing of the poetic-meme-deconstruction of my personae.
My life is a lie.
Monday, November 10, 2008
THE TOWER OF BRAHMA: Chapter 2 - Control
02/09/04
In the bathroom of a truck stop I found myself lingering in front of the mirror as I washed my hands. I looked up to meet my own eyes as they looked me over. Who was this character that substituted my reflection? It was almost as if I was supposed to recall the details of this alternately reflected creature, but upon deeper inspection I found that I was unable to place a name, place or purpose to it. The harder I tried to figure out who this was that had seized control of what I thought was my body, the less that seemed familiar to me.
I dismissed the fact that I could no longer tell what was a discernible reality with a shrug of my shoulders, and I watched my looking-glass doppelganger ape the movements in sync. Did I always look like this? In a way I want to say I did, but in a way this body felt new, somehow removed from my old one. Could my entire existence prior to these moments be nothing but fiction? A detailed schematic of a lie that I once called my Life has seemingly been pulled over my eyes as I continued to wage war against the reality that I was currently experiencing.
The past was full of doubt that left me with only the moment and the moment to come. It is those subtle transitions I must be aware of, for the more Cognitive I am during them, the stronger my sense of reality shall become. And if I am to make it out of this, I will need to have my wits about me, and to have some roadmap of where I've been.
Lost in a thought I slipped from frame of reference and began floundering along my Auric-wavelength. Phasing between time and space I found myself drifting along as the meat cleansed itself of tactile bacterial growth with scalding hot water and pink jism that served as soap. I bounced and rattled within as I fought my way back to the controls.
Things have been a bit touch and go since I was baptized in the Ether of Eternity. Reborn again into shape and form, I was corkscrewed back into flesh and mind, spiraling and rotating back towards full control. Flexing my tether to the Eternal Unconscious to glean tidbits of Truth, I scribble the info down in my journal as soon as possible hoping to identify the pattern upon thorough examination.
In the bathroom of a truck stop I found myself lingering in front of the mirror as I washed my hands. I looked up to meet my own eyes as they looked me over. Who was this character that substituted my reflection? It was almost as if I was supposed to recall the details of this alternately reflected creature, but upon deeper inspection I found that I was unable to place a name, place or purpose to it. The harder I tried to figure out who this was that had seized control of what I thought was my body, the less that seemed familiar to me.
I dismissed the fact that I could no longer tell what was a discernible reality with a shrug of my shoulders, and I watched my looking-glass doppelganger ape the movements in sync. Did I always look like this? In a way I want to say I did, but in a way this body felt new, somehow removed from my old one. Could my entire existence prior to these moments be nothing but fiction? A detailed schematic of a lie that I once called my Life has seemingly been pulled over my eyes as I continued to wage war against the reality that I was currently experiencing.
The past was full of doubt that left me with only the moment and the moment to come. It is those subtle transitions I must be aware of, for the more Cognitive I am during them, the stronger my sense of reality shall become. And if I am to make it out of this, I will need to have my wits about me, and to have some roadmap of where I've been.
Lost in a thought I slipped from frame of reference and began floundering along my Auric-wavelength. Phasing between time and space I found myself drifting along as the meat cleansed itself of tactile bacterial growth with scalding hot water and pink jism that served as soap. I bounced and rattled within as I fought my way back to the controls.
Things have been a bit touch and go since I was baptized in the Ether of Eternity. Reborn again into shape and form, I was corkscrewed back into flesh and mind, spiraling and rotating back towards full control. Flexing my tether to the Eternal Unconscious to glean tidbits of Truth, I scribble the info down in my journal as soon as possible hoping to identify the pattern upon thorough examination.
Monday, November 3, 2008
THE TOWER OF BRAHMA: Chapter 1 - Escape
02/04/04
The clichés were all present. Lined up in a row so as to make me believe this farce, this fiction that has been substituted for my life. I awoke in my room, yet it wasn't my room. I inherently knew that my position had been altered while I slept. I looked around at my "stuff" in my "bedroom" and instantly felt like I was on a movie set. Everything was there, in perfect disorder, but they felt hollow, empty, devoid of the sentimentality and nostalgic power I've imbued them with.
I began writing down my thoughts immediately in my journal, which was nearby. Hopefully I could reach my laptop and post these thoughts online and make my abduction known to all. Cautiously I left my bedroom to find my faux living room. Replacement couch, TV, bookshelf, DVDs, and computer, all sitting in the same place I had the originals for years. Through the small window above my desk I could see the day was a slate gray. Looking down at my computer I could see that they have cleverly left me access to the Internet. Truly nothing was out of place.
I made my way to the front door and stepped outside. Staring up at the massive gray dome miles above me, I knew then the trouble that my abductors had gone through to make this mock world. It was perfect and complete in its illusion of comfort and familiarity. I needed to escape as soon as possible.
I threw on some clothes, grabbed a backpack full of supplies I might need and ran out the door. I hesitated a minute or two in front of the fridge but decided that any food there may be tainted with any sort of hallucinogenic drug. I needed to maintain this clarity of thought if I am going to make it out of the confines of this pseudo-reality. I started up my car and slipped in some good driving music. I tore off down a simulation of the road I drove every day for the last three years.
So far everything was as it should have been. If it wasn't for the ache in the pit of my stomach, the panic buried deep within myself that I trusted more than my five senses, I could have easily have believed that this truly was my life. That this was my car that I was driving, down the street I live on, wearing the clothes that I got for Christmas. So seductive was the lie that something deep in me, possibly on a genetic level, was telling me to run. Somehow I knew that this deception was more than my willpower could possibly overcome.
The clichés were all present. Lined up in a row so as to make me believe this farce, this fiction that has been substituted for my life. I awoke in my room, yet it wasn't my room. I inherently knew that my position had been altered while I slept. I looked around at my "stuff" in my "bedroom" and instantly felt like I was on a movie set. Everything was there, in perfect disorder, but they felt hollow, empty, devoid of the sentimentality and nostalgic power I've imbued them with.
I began writing down my thoughts immediately in my journal, which was nearby. Hopefully I could reach my laptop and post these thoughts online and make my abduction known to all. Cautiously I left my bedroom to find my faux living room. Replacement couch, TV, bookshelf, DVDs, and computer, all sitting in the same place I had the originals for years. Through the small window above my desk I could see the day was a slate gray. Looking down at my computer I could see that they have cleverly left me access to the Internet. Truly nothing was out of place.
I made my way to the front door and stepped outside. Staring up at the massive gray dome miles above me, I knew then the trouble that my abductors had gone through to make this mock world. It was perfect and complete in its illusion of comfort and familiarity. I needed to escape as soon as possible.
I threw on some clothes, grabbed a backpack full of supplies I might need and ran out the door. I hesitated a minute or two in front of the fridge but decided that any food there may be tainted with any sort of hallucinogenic drug. I needed to maintain this clarity of thought if I am going to make it out of the confines of this pseudo-reality. I started up my car and slipped in some good driving music. I tore off down a simulation of the road I drove every day for the last three years.
So far everything was as it should have been. If it wasn't for the ache in the pit of my stomach, the panic buried deep within myself that I trusted more than my five senses, I could have easily have believed that this truly was my life. That this was my car that I was driving, down the street I live on, wearing the clothes that I got for Christmas. So seductive was the lie that something deep in me, possibly on a genetic level, was telling me to run. Somehow I knew that this deception was more than my willpower could possibly overcome.
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