Erm, excuse me, but what’s that in your head? We’re not here to mark it as a thought without the right to capture flight but we would prefer if you locked it up, it doesn’t fit in here.
My deepest apologies sir, I was not looking to disrupt the governed order. It was just remembering something tugged on my imagination. Please do not tell me what I have experienced, now there is no need to be acrimonious. I shall digress as I intend, not the way that is appropriate.
And so, it rests, I find my net and flip it into a hammock in which to nest, a space to be beguiled by this beautiful mess. Light up if you want, let yourself slip away and manifest the story that follows you around each day. The same one that will hopefully be going on from before you awoke this morning. But what went on under the night’s blanket, did something happen in the darkness?
I remember from before, jokes and terrors, shivers and chuckles, strangely entangled, cackling in wonder. I think that was after I shut my eyes. Dreams materialising. Why bother filtering the crackers introduction to my dilapidating circumstances. I can’t manifest my rendering of the great happening but can take solace in the notion that I’m too incapacitated to do anything.
It’s just with time smashed and the cuckoo broken, I don’t feel now is the hour to bring sense back from the depths. With the music stopped, I blink, I stutter, wandering towards what is known, mourning for what has been lost. There was a simpler time, where I lacked insight into such benign reckonings but neither had I fallen, scrambled, been forced to dive through fright to the other side where horrors flutter. It’s all too exotic.
Startling awake, I cry for what is missing. My head squeezes back towards the pillow, eyes blearing, mind not ready to return to the world of the living. I become disentangled from the trip I’ve taken, the buzzing of my alarm clock dissecting my imagination. Time for another day of serving some other production.
I wish I could lie here forever not knowing, but I can’t be some willing victim to the taunts of the broken membrane between what’s happened and what’s the allure of cruel fiction. I didn’t make up yesterday, I’m sure it happened. I will myself not to struggle but I can’t say if I’m successful, my expectations sink and tug on my guts. I try to digest what this regurgitation of my past means for my next decisions.
Best to stand up, wash the dirt from my finger nails and face it. It’s all I’ve got going. I’m not just memories, lost in a hopeless cascade, I’m living now, trying to get going. I think.