i amaze myself with how quiet i get.
it's so funny, i'd always thought i would have fantasies of solitude. but other people always seem to creep in. people whom i dont even know. and for some bizarre reason they always are trying to sell me things. i dont know what to make of it.
there is a circus in my room. i left the music off tonight. i wanted the silence. i wanted to see what my mind would come up with. it went to the circus. butterflies. there were lots of them, for whatever reason. i don't know why but there always ends up being many people in these wacky trippy times. i must learn myself to keep my eyes shut. the fantasy gets killed when i open them to a small room without any exotic people or animals. if only i had one of those masks, you know. that people sleep with. i find it so hard to move afterwards. if i dont force myself to move i will stay still for a very very long time. there is this fantastic noise inside my head. but it is always ruined when i open my eyes. the silence brings me back. so much silence. i can look upon my body, and try to will it to move. it takes a while. small things at first. fingertips, toes, always the extremities. i jerk my knees. then i have to jolt my body all at once to bring it to life again. it's the only way. otherwise i think i'd stay frozen in whatever position i took when i started the ride in the first place. it's funny. when i open my eyes, sometimes my hand is in mid air, doing something. i get so lost, so very fast. sometimes i dont think i can come up from it. if i never opened my eyes, i wouldnt. but even when i open my eyes, i'm only the observer. i watch the room. i watch the things i thought were there, not appear like i think they will. but i still dont move. i cant. i'm locked within my own mind, and i think at such a rapid pace that i can't make sense of any of it. foolishly i thought i would try to keep some paper and a pen next to me, to write down the nonsense my mind tries to tell me, but i've quickly learned that it's not feasible. you can't write when you can't move. i think this is what being dead must be like. or in a coma. maybe that's a better analogy. if you're dead, you dont see shit, but if you're in a coma.... maybe. you can't feel a fucking thing. that's why i have to concentrate so hard to make myself move again. it's so hard. mostly i just dont want to. so i dont. seeing through alive eyes, looking upon a dead body is very surreal. i think it was a desert. i remember a desert. a circus in the desert, perhaps. i wish i could put whats in my head down on record. maybe if there was a person to transcribe what i say. thing is, i dont even know if i can talk. i havent tried yet. the conversations going on withing my own head are far too interesting.
(this was all lifted from a post I made to Blake. my urge, after coming out of a trance, is forever to tell him first, what went on. lucky him. and apparently talking whilst under, is something of a phenomenon. you can think you're talking, but you're actually not. or you think you are saying what you are thinking in your head but you're really mumbling. heh. so getting one of you dopes to listen to me babble on wouldn't really amount to much of anything, other than you maybe wanting to kill me, I suspect.)
