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Sometimes now I just sit and stare at an ugly, irrelevant object - a marker pen, black as sin, the red gash of a comb, the smooth snake of a cable, mottled and grey - through a haze of adrenaline and chemicals, experiencing the strange and strained hum of my mind and body, thinking of what? The incomprehensibility, the opacity, the darkness of other people, the depth of experience, the chemical effects of the external environment on one helpless, wondering, childlike brain. I close my eyes and see against the darkness a myriad showers of fire. Fractal images grow, mutate, evolve in abstract myosis; all the direct, fleeting, constantly developing yet heavy, pesante effect of a unique reality on a living over-complex organism. This, presumably, is what reality is - apart from its usual pedestrian mundanity when experience is too slight to register against the now usual volcanic eruptions and earthquake violations. And how does it begin? By the same inaudible crack that you feel rather than hear as the world, reality, changes once and for all, for good or ill, when you look up, stunned, shocked, with glazed, fire-lit eyes and with an organic, chemical hum in your ears, unhearing, realising that whatever you knew is gone, done, over; that you cannot go back, that the problem is in your own mind, it is your own mind, your body: in the chemical changes being sent from a treacherous, suicidal brain to your own involuntary and insensible glands and other misshapen, damaged organs which continue to spasmodically release, in spite of silent, abstract howls from a suffering puppet consciousness, the slight & feeble current dashed away by a pitiless flood of organic stimulants. And past pain is neither a distant memory nor another country, but merely a functionless, usurped algorithm, a circuit which, over time, twitches to life with ever increasing isolation until, eventually, it merges with all other experience forming yet another neuronic constellation in the grey, convoluted universe of a hundred myriad myriad synaptic links.
This is what happens, what is happening, what has happened.
11/1/95
26/1/96