This place

we inhabit

is just a theoretical

fuckpot

of questions

and maybe's.

All the alterations

we seek

for a hope of a peek

into the

Unimaginable,

takes us

probably nowhere

but around the cycle

of all we'll ever

know to be.

There's a dread

in my heart,

and it feels like

home.

A country song

in my head,

that twangy sound

I don't love.

Got twinges of regret

traveling up and down

my spine.

Acid in my veins,

not the

hallucinating kind.

You're almost dead,

and I watch

these chapters

rewind.

I was gonna write

our book,

but now I've left

that all behind.

I imagine every one of you,

animated as in life,

Sometimes you're younger,

but no one ever

gets older.

That's the secret;

stop the timeline,

before you reach it.

Myself stepped out,

and turned to face me.

The mirror cut me;

violence towards strangers.

There's a world

out there,

Outside of my head.

Thinking of it

fills my heart

With dread.

People lose their heads out there in the desert. All that loneliness, with nothing but flat, dry brown earth, a few shrubby bushes, and a staltwart cactus here and there. If you were blindfolded, and dropped off out there, you might walk for miles, in any direction, and you would see the same damn scenery. You might even start to believe this was it. That there was nothing else in this world except you and the occasional jackrabbit or scurrying freakazoid insect. Snake holes everywhere that sent shivers through you whenever you passed one, even under that relentless, blazing sun. One starts to lose their tether to themself. Time and humanity detach themselves into a hazy memory that might've just been a mirage.

Yes, one could go a little crazy out here. Do things you'd never do back in the normal, civilized world.

Purpose- The testing of the durability of the Human Spirit under extreme duress.

Research Subject- 815165

Specifications- Species-Human

Type/Gender-Female

Hair/Eyes- Blnd., Hzl

Height-5'5" Wt.- 105lbs.

Life Stage- Pre-Adolescence

Dated: May 05 1986

Time: 1500 (MT)

Observer/Intuitive Perspective:

The subject is in a dark room. Neon red light begins to spiderweb all around her. The floor is splitting open below her. She does not know what to do. So she sits. The web encircles her, weaves into her mind, her thoughts, her psyche. Later, when she seeks comfort, she will re-enact the webs as best as she can, because this is what she knows. And familiarity breeds comfort. She has not stopped falling, but the webs lend her hope in the moments she brushes against them.

Observer/ Reality Perspective(as pertains to Humanoid Environment):

She is sitting on the love seat, her mother on the old cat clawed, raggedy fold out couch.

Next to the couch is the scarred up nightstand with the clock radio quietly blaring baseball stats.

Her mother's mouth stops moving and she snaps her mind to attention. She is supposed to say something here. "Uh-huh", she manages. Then too late, she realizes her mistake as her mother launches into (yet another) lecture on proper grammar that somehow sidewinds into a shaming session on what an ungrateful little slut she is.

This time, when the mouth stops moving, she is ready. Has dutifully paid attention to every single word. She is ready for the pop quiz.

She uses every ounce of willpower to control her facial muscles so the relief does not register anywhere in her expression, as she mercifully, eventually, scores high enough on the quiz to be granted dismissal.

She walks steadily to her bedroom, and carefully closes the door. Her mother values privacy. Another mystery unsolvable.

She lifts her hands to her face with a vengeance, then abruptly re-orients to grab at her hair instead. Mustn't leave marks. She yanks and pulls, grits her teeth, and screams inside her mouth.

She needs blood though, so she raises her shirt, and claws at her chest. Then she calms herself, shamed silent by her outburst.

She then looks fondly over at the pram with her baby dolls, and exclaims brightly, "Let's go for a walk!"

She is 10 and a half years old.

Session 2 concluded.

Observations recorded.

Awaiting analysis reports.

To be continued...

There are events occuring

Strange people emerging

When the darkness comes out

To hide them.

Inside the safe cocoons

Of sanitized civility,

Most of humanity

Are sequestered away in ignorancy.

Night after night

Out in the elements

Lurks the anomalies

Freak shows revealed accidentally.

A power line melting

At 3 am a few yards away from

Fireman wading fearfully

Into green glowing ocean waves.

A mad woman tells you the answer

To your question unspoken,

At the train station,

A man rewinds.

Hungry carnivores

Make desperate requests

Then vanish

With the morning light.

Spend some time

In the wilderness

Of the city at night,

Under the lonely

Moonlight.

There is an underground

All around you,

Shadows swallowed

Into disappearing staircases.

You would never even believe it,

If you saw it with

Your own

Eyes.

This constant state to recreate

Dominates the majority

Of the human race.

But perhaps this is the way,

This constant striving, trying, reaching...

To just be,

That is the blissful way, yes,

And it holds sometimes, for a bit.

In my pangs of want,

I'll think, maybe I could do it better.

Make me better.

But I like surprises.

And I'm waiting to see

What I'll become.

To know you

Get to that place

Where no one else can go.

To visit you there

Hold your feelings

Side by side

Fight for our lives.

Be a little less

Empty inside.

Can't cure our broken bits

Will still come up short

As we tally our hits

Wronged by the miss.

But in an instant

Hope finds an instance

Meet your eyes

No words

As our Souls reflect.

My wish

That solid Truth

You have me

And I have you.

Around us

The Universe swarms

Vast is the darkness

Cold and unknown.

But never again

Will we be unfound

And alone.

Logic is unimportant

when the metronome of Life

has been paced by man

and the opposite

is true

except when

it

is not.

The cats won't behave,

My body is betraying me with age,

I'm losing hope in evolving

Into a Sigma

The closest I can get is a Christ-less

affliction of a Stigmata.

I can't make my will move

Out of its sedentary position

My human-ness is failing me,

My fight or flight has vaporized,

My dread grows and manifests

An unwanted reality,

My luck laughs,

And taunts me so torturously.

The hours you have been gone

Will just be explained away

And when you come back

I will continue to throw

All my chances away.