Escape from the mundane

Originally posted on Tuesday, August 19, 2008 on myspace.com

It starts like any other regular day.
The sun comes up, the birds chirp.
He gets into his car, he drives away.
He’s perfectly ready not to enjoy his day.
He’s perfectly okay with everything being routine.
He turns on his autopilot, just like every other day.
Going through the motions, not really aware he has a pulse.
Sitting at his office desk, staring into the computer screen.
His eyes take the light in, his brain flips it, and constitutes it into something tangible.
Just like every other day.
Then autopilot clicks off.
He panics, he can’t tell what’s wrong, but he doesn’t feel right.
He can’t go through those motions anymore, he can’t stare into space anymore.
So he gets up.
This is his first mistake.
His second mistake?
He throws his monitor.
His third mistake?
He shouts expletives with no fear of the consequences.
It clicked off.
His satisfaction with the mundane clicked off.
So he left his office, headed for his car.
But he wasn’t happy with that either, so he set it on fire.
He watched it burn, and then decided to leave.
He had no real direction in mind.
He had a name, it was Clark.
He remembered that now.
So, Clark walked away from his life, but he didn’t care anymore.
His autopilot was gone.
It was inexplicably gone.
A smile approached his face, he allowed it.
He was happy, something that he hadn’t felt for a considerable amount of time.
He looked at the sky, something he hadn’t done for a while.
It was different.
It was blue.
But, not the blue that you or I could explain.
It was a new blue.
Actually, every color, every shape, everything he could perceive, had a new novelty.
It was like he had never experienced anything before.
Clark looked wide eyed at this new life.
Then he made it disappear.
He wanted it gone.
He was done with it.
He looked at every object, and made it new.
He gave it a new name, a new shape, a new color.
This all happened because he said it would.
And he truly believed that.
He left the shared dimension, and entered his own.
No one ever heard from Clark again.
In fact nobody even remembered Clark.
Just because he said they wouldn’t.

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Nothing and Everything

Originally posted on Thursday, August 14, 2008 on myspace.com

I’ve been here a while.
I don’t know what “here” is, but here I am.
Or so I believe.
There’s nobody else here, it’s just bright white space.
I mean, that is if you can call this white.
I don’t know what anything is anymore.
When a man is in infinite space, his mind can start to wander.
That is if you can call this infinite.
Or even space for that matter.
You don’t need to know who I am, that’s not important.
I’m not important.
I’m just a singularity in this infinite space.
I guess I can tell you the beginning (or the end) but I don’t know much more.
Depending on how you percieve either of those.
It was the last day of school.
My friends were there, we were all content.
If that’s what emotion it was.
I sipped coffee and felt merry.
Purely enjoying the company of the others around me.
Selfish in my happiness, expecting everything to be constant.
Then it began.
Just a flicker; not even a flicker, a minuscule flash, of the infinite white.
Everything seemed just a little more translucent to me.
This is when I realized what was happening.
What my non-conformity had finally done to my reality.
I began to question it, and from that moment on it started to drift.
It was very subtle at first, it felt as if I was breaking a habit.
You know that feeling?
The feeling that something is absent.
But that thought is all the way at the back of your mind, so you don’t realize it.
I mean, subconsciously you know it’s there, but it hasn’t surfaced yet.
Yeah, it felt like that.
Like something was beginning to disappear, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
From that day on, everything felt somewhat thin.
Like my universe was a membrane, and I could push my nail through it with ease.
Day by day, that thin movie screen of a universe began to flicker even more.
My universe was a light bulb waiting to go out.
Then one day, 2 weeks from the first day, that light bulb did go out.
I have been sitting in my infinite space ever since.
If this is death, then death is everything horrible, and nothing horrible at the same time.
It’s intangibly tangible.
If there is something, then it’s nothing.
Does this mean anything to you?
Well, it means everything to me.
And nothing.
If those are the words you still call it by.
I can’t seem to turn the switch back on.
I can’t seem to find the switch itself.
If I can’t find a way I’m stuck here eternally.
Is this eternal?
So, this is what it feels like to be nothing.

And everything.

This is…
That’s a funny statement.
I don’t know if this is.

Emotionally Numb

Originally posted on Sunday, August 10, 2008 on myspace.com

I miss the days where I would wake up early.
I miss the days when I would stay up late.
I miss the idea that nothing was on my mind.
I miss the fact that no matter what, I was happy.
I miss the fall leaves, and the winter cold.
I miss caring.
I miss caring.
I miss caring.
That’s really all I miss.