Okay I don’t have much time because life is calling, but somebody was kind enough to sit here while these words were typed.
I went with another new story. Using a painting by Zdzislaw Beksinski as inspiration. (my wordpress skills
are lacking.. But I’ll try to get the image up.)
blah blah I’m bad at punctuation, here is Day 3.
Are you sure about this? He asked slightly slurring. No worries man, Trevor took the yellow square off the Ikea coffee table with a finger and stuck it into his mouth. The stickers labeling each individual piece of the table with a letter for easy assembly had never been removed. His mind raced as he tried to reach an internal conclusion. Without thinking he set the yellow tab on his tongue and smiled at his friend. They reclined back into the hand me down couch that had been here longer than either of them. They watched a bit of a bad science fiction movie, and smoked a bowl or two. Time slipped by and the credits were rolling. The empty beer cans were stacked in a pyramid at one end of the table and a plastic sack full of stems sat forgotten on the floor.
I don’t think its going to work, its been over two hours right? Trevor yawned and decided to turn in for the night.
The guy they met at the rave had sworn that this experience would be like nothing else, they were both more than a little bummed out. He twisted in his seat and stretched out on the paisley couch. The Pink tear drop designs had alternating hexagons of every color imaginable.
He shoved his hands behind his head and thought hard about his state of mind, was something going on? It wasn’t like anything else he had tried before, his thoughts seemed too clear. But something was on the peripheral of everything kind of a blue glow. Restless and disappointed he turned back towards the couch, the hexagons he saw earlier were rotating within one anther, finally, he smiled and tried to take more of it in.
This felt like an acid trip, he would be fine he told himself. The dealer had spoken of Eagle reverently but lets face it Kyle wasn’t that spiritual. His eyes glazed over as he watched the twisting and alternating patterns in the couch, gradually he turned to gaze up at the spackled ceiling. It was a blank white canvas, so pure and clean. His mind took the liberty to paint it with kaleidoscopic images, it was like a psychedelic doily had been laid over his worldview. The canvas pulsed and shook, he fell into it, leaving his body reclining on the couch.
It became a tundra of freezing snow whipping around in every direction obscuring his vision. He shivered and heard his own consciousness speaking faintly on the wind. The constant inner monologue of thoughts that shape experiences had gone silent and all Kyle heard was white noise. He stared out into the storm, looking for the first time at the world objectively. He didn’t like what he saw. The snow began to sting his skin and get into his mouth, it wasn’t snow, but sand. Dry fine gritty sand, filled up his nostrils with every breath and coated his lips. The brilliant white was drifting up around him. Before he knew it he was buried up to the waist in the drifts. It’s embrace was warm and comforting but something urged him to look up into the sand blasted sky. Just out of reach a shifting darkness beckoned him. The grey world he stood in completely void of his personal experiences and emotions was frightening.
He needed to see more, the undulating mass in the sky was so close if he could just move towards it. With immense effort he took one step towards the darkness then another. He would touch the abyss today.