Chapter 10a
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
I have become something of a mess. I am never clean, never organized, never kept together. I look like any number of crazy homeless guys that prowl the streets for loose change. In truth, I'm not too far removed. I have my home, I do not lack any of the necessities of life, but I otherwise fill the same role. No, I don't beg for change, but I do slither through the streets as little more than a nauseating mist. In my moments of clarity, few though they may be, I want to throw out my mantle of filth. I do not wish to be the subject of ridicule or compassion or anything else that the few people who notice me decide use comfort themselves with.
There are a few problems with this, however. Firstly, I do not want to be noticed. I may get fewer thoughts about it when I am noticed if I cleaned up a little, I guess, but that's almost like inviting people to interact with you. It's better for both of us if that doesn't happen. They can't keep up with my thoughts and I can't follow theirs. At least nobody bothers to think too deeply about me as I am.
The second point is really probably less secondary than the first. I've tried to clean up. I can manage a shower, although sometimes I forget and get in with my clothes on or while I'm reading a book. Other times I've forgotten to put clothes back on. I don't understand why something like that should be so hard but it is. It just is.
It's hard to imagine life as it was. I used to have a wife. Can you believe that? I'm pretty sure she was even a real person. That was twelve years ago, though, and I've certainly gotten worse, especially in these last few years, but I wasn't the perfect model of stability then, either. I can't fault her for wanting to be away from us.
I hate how the worlds all blend together. At one point I'll be walking down the street and realize I'm asleep. At another I might be eating a sandwich when I notice that I'm scrambling for my life in a struggle with giant spiders. I can feel the dragon watching me and waiting to strike. It's subtle, the onslaught comes in whispers still, but I'm not sure that's all of it. When I had her there were no incorporeal voices. Causation or correlation, I guess, I can't say which.
I hear little things but that's not where the link is. The senses communicate with the physical world. Somehow I'm sure physical worlds are bound but if I am bound to another plane it's going to be most closely to myself there. What I mean to say is that I think there are others of us in other dimensions and that I can hear them because something is holding all of these realities together. No, that's not it, that's only about what I'm meaning to say. We're bound at the soul or something. I can hear them sometimes but I can feel them. I did not see spiders, hear spiders, smell or taste or touch spiders, I only felt that fear. That specific fear that somehow conveys not only the terror itself but that nature of it by superseding language.
I've had other women since her, one pretty serious until I decided to disappear, several who were drug addicts and mentally deranged, but I have also had a lot of trouble making social bonds since her. I've had even more trouble giving a shit about them.
Ultimately, I don't know what I'm trying to say. Everything I see from my connection now is in the subconscious. The voices have taken to only asking questions. I can barely even remember life without them now. They have become my best and only friends. I trust them, even though they never talk directly to me, even though they rarely say things of any consequence or meaning to be trusted.
What I want to know, one thing I want to know, one of many billions of things I want to know, is why this is happening to me. No, not that, although I want to know that too. Why is this getting worse, perhaps? I forget but whatever it was, I hope I learn soon. Why is this getting so much worse, though? If things are changing then there has to be a reason. I'm fairly certain general laws of physics also apply to these types of brain-fucked problems that I see to be having.
I feel like I'm drawing closer to something, some kind of ultimate end to my story. One way or another, I suppose. I want to die but I left that road behind far too long ago to turn back now. And so what if I did? With how these worlds tie together, with the gravity that seems to exist between us, would something so trivial as my death really change things at all? Would it even change things for me?
Like I said, I've become something of a mess. I have continued to search for the answers I need but I know they are not there. They aren't there because they don't exist. I know this but I'm powerless to do anything but press on.