The home of Cetera Noir and his band Die Hard Cafe

Monday, June 13, 2011

My Belief of Death.

When my body dies, I will not.

As I fade I will fall unconscious and begin to dream, but I will never wake up from that dream.

I will quickly forget my former life as my my dream takes me through many adventures and horrors, and I will feel like I have lived countless lives.

Unable to cope with the endless disjointed stream of my own regurgitated experiences,  I will eventually go insane within my dream (if I wasn't already so when I expired.)

This prolonged state of insanity makes my outlook increasingly abstract, to the point where I forget human languages and other earthy trappings.

As emotion, instinct, and knowledge battle each other for supremacy, a stalemate is reached and the conflict is extinguished by a complete rescinding of my being. My self forfeits it's will to continue on.  My existence becomes a quiet darkness. A peaceful stasis that is maintained for a prolonged period. A long nothingness.

What was once my mind is now a blank slate. Not truly clean or empty, but compressed like compacted garbage. The totality of my life no longer churning, but solid now; homogenous; a platform; a template.

The balance is finally broken by a single impulse: desire.  The emptiness becomes a burden in itself. The nature of my mind is unable to fully embrace at. A beta version of boredom emerges as my mind remembers what it is like to feel.

I remember the faintest notion of breath. Then hunger.  I remember ever so subtly the feeling of having a body.  I begin the recall this memory very casually and then I relish in it. I keep the idea with me until it is all I think about. My new joy is to primitively sense; even though there is nothing to sense, and no sensory organs to gather the information, and no brain to process it. I pretend to have senses and make up my own stimuli based on rudimentary notions gleaned from distant memories. Quickly, this defines my existence.

Gradually, I build up more of my new imaginary body. I add a sense of touch because I remember something about it. I keep adding systems to create some semblance of a construct that existed once in a fantasy. A machine that could experience pleasures that would make me…..happy, was it? And there was a place where this machine dwelled that was filled with stimuli for these sensations; a wonderland.

Once this idea is born, the process seems to snowball. Some force takes over and I find myself on a ride of formation. I stay static as more sensations appear around me, and "me" becomes much more vivid and present. I surrender myself to the change. My dream of feeling good things is coming true. I was once nothing and that is all I knew. But now, as I incubate, I am something. And every second I am even more. My world is being ever populated with new stimuli, and I soak it all in. My new world is warm and close. It cradles me and feeds me things I did not know I wanted. And I am fulfilled.

Now I am feeling on an unimaginable level. I am quite good at it. I have cataloged all the feelings that this hot, liquid realm has to offer. And I know I can feel so much more. The wonderland is near. I can smell it. I can hear it. I can go to it. I must get to it. I am ready.

And so I set to work on propelling myself to the new world. Ignorant of how the knowledge of this place came to me, I press on. Prodding, kicking, pushing.

I continue this until I am tired, and then I try again. I am getting stronger and I know that soon I will break free.

I break free, or I break.. something.  My world shakes and falls apart and everything blurs. I completely lose track of the deluge of new events, new information. I am being ripped from the world I made and into something bigger. Fear. The wonderland? The hell.

I realize for the fist time that I can scream. I scream. I have real eyes now but I have seen enough. I close my eyes and scream. Every sense is burning. So is my mind. Things are flooding into my consciousness now that I am not ready for. Things I left behind long ago. I no longer comprehend them. But I will have to face them again.

1 comment:

  1. I'm basically imagining Dr. Manhattan except I see no mention of blue penises anywhere.