“A taste of a moment where space feels unreal. A slippage of all the unmentionables into a super mini blackhole from an invisible dimension.
This thirst can manifest itself into a wide variety of masquerades and can render an otherwise sound individual into fits of sporadic madness”
It’s beyond me
It’s beyond thee Heavenly Light, shining down on the leaves of tree tops and roots of Afros
It’s beyond the many public images The Machine occasionally flashes from its 52 card deck + 17 more, faces all of different worth
Beyond the gaze of the Hubble, far off out of the catacombs of any understood or commonly accepted plane of physical reality ever known by mankind
beyond the deep thrusts propelling our world can along, spinning on a pole. Deep raw thrusts. Primal. A jet-purple venom from the fang of the crooked snake kind of sizzle, searing to the touch; that kind of potency… that kind of strength will never be harnessed and used for the greater good at this rate. Not at this trajectory.
Trust is at the center of that undefinable point, out there somewhere
Tick Tick Big Bang
it’s beyond me…
[ . . . ]
I’m on this Ride because I got the ticket against my will. Not even sure I was ready for life, let alone storming off somewhere I know nothing of without a proper travel pamphlet. The Ride you can come & go on but can never leave.
zoom zoom zoom
Off towards where exactly?!
Where in holy hell am I headed? What fun is travel if you aren’t aware of the destination? What’s the point of shooting off like a fiend out of hell from point A to M and back to C?
The ticket in my hand. Arrival stamp is my place & time of birth, the only ink on the paper.
“Oh, very helpful,” I can’t help but think aloud. The only thing you can do in the specter factory.
Or is this the way there? Have I been in the factory all along or was that many stops ago?
The Ride shifts gears and accelerates causing me to bump into the faceless figure in front of me. It grunts and straightens itself out. Passengers come and go and I wonder if they know where they are going either & have doubts that they do. Those full of life don’t glide about as a colorless blob, avoiding eye contact, no expression if they do.
“A ride to Hell this must be,” I wonder. A queer rocket ship flying through the moon’s orbit, a spirit trapped amongst the the human world unable to make contact without petrifying others into throes of The Fear.
If such a Ride is inevitable, as it appears to be, then there should be no reason I shouldn’t get off at the next stop. You’d think the unknown would be better than the chaotic dull of machine-like drudgery. Though, it hasn’t fared me well in the past to wander about.
One stop I got off at led me into a dark forest with a heavy ambiance as if a predatory beast lurked about in the shadows, a trail of pebbles lead me back to the Main Station.
Another stop was an isolated planet that rained sharp diamond particles, each boom of thunder a volcano of blue lightening, all in zero gravity. I didn’t stay there long.
The last stop I got off at was a space very similar to the familiar reality I had grown to know… only the atmosphere was prone to spontaneous combustion. One moment you’re having small talk with a patron at the bar and next you’re watching their face melt and skin fry in a purple haze of crimson fire. The sight & the screams are enough to change your brain wiring forever. I haven’t been in a rush to get off since.
Though I do know, that merely staying put, latching on to the rail for dear life, would only facilitate my own demise.
I shudder at the thought. The sins of my life weigh down on my breast, causing contusions and uneven breath. Tremors begin & clammy skin. The dirty dozens tapdancing on my frontal lobe, a hell hound’s fur left behind itching the inside of my skull. What pain reliever or fever reducer can cure that?
The doctor’s candy?
One little pill to ease the Downright Wretchedness, one to up the Established Corrective Order, & another in an attempt to rid the Abject EdHorror. Should be doing wonders but it’s a wonder if they’re really doing anything at all. A question that is hard to determine given the radical outside forces at play.
The Ride decelerates, the brakes clicking clacking on the track, the astral projections outside the sliding door window drawing closer to a stop.
Will I get off this time
or keep wondering where I’ll end up?
Zoom back in a bit more, back towards what’s known as a grounded reality. It is entirely possible to see the hand of God allowing underfed birds to peck seedlings from the palm or slapping a minor across the face for using teeth.
Crystal skulls raining down from cumulus clouds, moisturizing the fairy air further, whistling tunes of days of past. Tunes of woes unto those whom confuse tradition for sacredness, praising sacrilege.
This sort of psalm, broadcasts 24/7 around the world, and can be easily tuned into without any sort of electrical device.
Figuring out which station is which is the difficult part, so all sources must be subjected to extreme scrutiny…
I notice I seem to be standing on what feels like solid ground and look down at my feet. I’m surprised not to see smoothed cement but nothing.
Still lost in some region of deep space. The nebulae and galaxies more like splotches of paint thrown at a canvas like one of Pollock’s masterpieces. The ‘paint’, however, is still wet. Dripping from their splat of origin, technicolor spider veins branching out onto the blank excess of nothing. The runoff trickles down on the proverbial floor I stand on, beginning to puddle at my feet.
Celestial bodies surround me, seeming to be within arm’s reach, but millions of light years away.
Reality is quite the optical illusion.
A kaleidoscope of every object I’ve ever seen from every previous moment leading up to this one
currents circles around my vision like a cyclone.
downwards downward down down
The fall is blanketed by shrubbery that cushions the impact before crumbling into ash. My hands instinctively rub my backside to massage the pained area but the impact did not hurt. Around me, a barren badland.
The Sky is a metallic gray fading into a corroded orange
shrouded in thick exhaust fume masquerading as clouds.
Unforgiving jagged gravel plunges into my bare feet
(feet protected by soles of shoes throughout their existence are not cut out for unpaved terrain)
Clemency swells as each moment recognized as a human second passes.
Beads of sweat run down the nape of my neck and my shirt feels as if it were fusing with my skin in osmosis
it takes a tremendous amount of effort to pull it over my head and let it fall behind me.
No longer in my hometown
no longer on any charted land
no vegetation of any kind in sight, not even cacti.
No monuments, nothing recognizable.
Only dust, rocks, ash. The occasional rise of flat land into a mole hill.
If I had a GPS to triangulate my position it would give up and display a giant ?
Gravity heavy. The weight of Jupiter pressing down upon on my pores squeezing out every drop of moisture.
Walking in a direction with no name. Energy weakened.
On my hands and knees, crawling, battling against the dry ashy landscape.
Up a hill that brings me closer to The Sky
I reach up and run my hands through the tar black clouds that feel of grit and soot, leaving stains between the webbing of my fingers. I wipe my hand against a smooth rock and a dark smear remains lingering over the life lines on my palm.
Destination Nowhere. Outcome Uncertain. Point Remains To Be Seen.
Whizzing sounds of distant traffic, electrical currents guided through mechanical parts well oiled with crimson,
words from The Void screaming throughout; from buoyant lead, iron fists, and crinkled greenery. Blocking paths long since forgotten and ushering forth towards roads with predictable outcomes.
Say “No Thank You”
Allow the unknown to fill every orifice of your lungs.
Closed eyes see no darkness.
There is a wormhole filled with every color on the known spectrum and fifty-thousand shades that the oxford dictionary has no definition of and human eyes have trouble accepting.
Nebulae and planetary bodies with orbiting suspensions of ice racing by in a blur.
Heat waves of passing stars tickle the bloodstream and flutter through veins turning the crimson into water and then into wine.
Punch-drunk fairies dizzily prancing through cerebral ruins, upchucking on the dulled grey matter,
pompous verbal units as stark and stale as century old fossilized excrement; land solid and explode in cataclysmic screams of primal rage seconds after impact.
All feelings of anguish and pain gone away.
In this Form, at this given moment, time increases increments that should be subject to extreme scrutiny for in this moment,
no seconds pass and no clocks tick and no feet march en tandem with the beat of any kind of drum sheathed with any kind of skin.
The maximum of charge allowed in in these parts as the number does not increase as the wormhole continues
though it is uncertain if it is suspended in a time lapse, or if that is indeed what is happening at all.
Any increasing number would be the only proof that time is continuing to move along as the astral stuff is, zooming by in the peripheral,
but the astral stuff moves, the percentage does not.
The speed of travel begins to slow and every cell in my body freezes like the milliseconds before a suspension-drop roller coaster’s declension
and I feel the same weightlessness as everything stops on a dime.