"

Oceanic. Life is oceanic. Ive felt things before, Ive thought myself into corners and off of cliffs. Ive wandered in the dark, feeling my way about the endless dense folds of the curtains. Ive brushed them aside, wandered into great caverns. Ive torn holes in them and climbed through. Ive ripped them from their pegs and left them in great heaps. Ive set them alight and danced in their fires. I came once, in the darkest of places, to clean life down to the hollow bone. I wandered into its emptiness. I fell, endlessly, timelessly into its depths, a directionless falling in total darkness. In that comfortless terror, I forgot. I forgot my body. I forgot my life. I forgot my friends, enemies. I forgot those that I loved. And finally, pitilessly, I forgot myself.

I thought it must be the afterlife. Where was I? Had I been falling? Nowhere into myself? Had I fallen through? Out the other side and into some nonsense land. It was impossible. Stupid and impossible. But here I was. Bliss. A taste of utter bliss, from nowhere like being hit by a bus on the street. A careless gift on an empty beach, for no one. I bathed in it, it caressed and absorbed me, it kissed and twirled about my body. Suffering. Suffering incomprehensible. Aching, impossible horror. It devoured, carelessly, the chewing and swallowing of maggots without purpose or meaning. It scratched among skin and bones, and then came to feast upon me. I felt light. I saw its eyes, like galaxies, burned into my vision like the sun. Its voice was clear and warm as angels. I saw myself. I saw my faults. I saw my love. I saw their causes, their futures. They became still, silly trinkets, toys left about by a child without direction or design.

I walked. I felt the air moving on my skin. I felt my feet dragging through the leaves. I saw a sky so clear and blue it burned into my heart, and I saw leaves and needles carried in the wind.

Everything had collapsed. It was nearly still now, flat and pulsing in a heap. An hour, a day, a week, flattened into a single feeling. Months, years, all my memories flattened into a word. It was a dream. A Freudian slip. All of these objects, events, people and emotions, just the silly characters of hopes and fears. It was not even a meaning, but the barest of senses. An emotion pretending to be a house, pretending to be a flower, a vase, a family, a forest. It was pretending to be a city, it was pretending to be me. All the sound and light in the world, just the shimmering of leaves, a cascade of images rustling in the pulsing invisible gusts, washing like waves upon the shore.

Oceanic. It was oceanic.

"

I wrote that like six months ago. An invisible six months. I close my eyes and lose a week, a month. I feel like there is this part of me that is keeping my body alive, like that guy who drives for me when Im off daydreaming. My face smiles and makes jokes, these little reflexes so I dont starve to death. Get a job. A place with my girl. A little garden to tend till the old man comes for me. Or what? Wander about talking to myself on the street? Forget about my life and pound away at a computer screen in some esoteric nowhere? Disappeared nonsense? Lucien Midnight for my name, as the man says...

If I shut my eyes I'll be 80, grandchildren, smiles in a village in south america, a blanket of memories seeping into the dirt.


Anyway. This place is all 'professional' and this kind of fidgeting nonsense will probably meet dead air. Im just rambling.