It’s two and a half into the am and I can’t leave my conscious state. I haven’t been trapped here in a couple of months. My head feels like it’s going to split open right at the top.
For hours, a series of astonishing yet simple realizations pounded my awareness in the most violent of manors. My imagination poured with blood and rage as the most basic and most obviously integrated-bits of information finally formed together into a cohesive perception. The resolution was low and the data loss high, but there was a definite signal lock.
Perhaps it was too faint to know for sure.
This new perception slaughtered what was left of a beautiful feeling stored deep inside my soul. Beautiful, at least, in my attachment to it. A mental room faintly marked with a flicker of hope suddenly has no doors or windows. Not a single spirit remains standing in a space that was once, perhaps, a little crowded. In the center of this room is an alter to trust, resting silently now in pitch black.
And if this is life, if the signal reads clean, then the dream of salvia was not so much a nightmare but rather the reality. In the nightmare, there was nothing beyond I and I was all there is. In this room exists no one now but myself and it has been far too long since I held regular occupancy. Have I ever?
Something about this seems terribly terribly wrong. This gaping hole left in reality where the meaning falls out, into nothing. This can’t be reality? The purity and intensity of the irony would be far too great.
Is the illusion truly that grand? I certainly hope there’s noise in this signal.