So, often times I'll take ambien to sleep. More often than sleeping, I'll not, but stay awake for the good times that ensue. And sometimes, I'll wake up with drawings all over my arms or I'll have written pages of nonsense. Of course, I have no recollection of writing or drawing, but it's sometimes nice to wake up to productivity. Last night was a productive night of nonsense. I woke up and found this on my computer. For all I know, someone else might have snuck in while I was asleep and wrote this. If that is the case, it's very very scary. But it's not. I was just really fucked up. Don't do drugs. Oh, but if you get a chance, take some ambien:
Wake up, sounds are around you; wake up; wake up. Notice the change: brighter pink lights surround the whites. The whites climb together, like volcanic cubes, slid upwards one, then down and over. The next cube, up. settled. the last cube settles and cannot consider this location. The way that pink and white might want to interact, to be and by being, melt. Melt. Melt. We melt around this madness, this tree branch. Circular swirling turns kaleidoscopic whiteness, mad precisely cut angles of varying degrees. The pieces cut, prepared, presented, to, you everyone. it suddenly opens, slicing in geometric bliss. Angles, sharp angles, make cries and bleed, Acute, Acute, tighter to beyond hope. Bleed into the air, down into a mist, so we can settle and see, for the first time, ourselves: There is nothing.
The trunks come to creak. To break and shatter, and crack the history of their lives throughout, for into this twirling orbit. there is some small pause to speak of trees, living, water, and mortality. Throw them over. Throw them out. We must be whithout them. There is always a darkness; there is no devil. But there is a devil in us when we are in the dark. There must be, we bring it in. We bring it in as one of us. Come, into the cave, darkness and devil await.
And so the bits of cubes, shattered ideas and incomprehensible firefly fight. The heat of battle melting into the snowface. Our powers give us nothing because we didn’t have powers to begin with. The snow tastes like snow, so we dance in it, on it, and, tonight, under it.
It is the snow burying ceremony. Little lines of boys and girls line up. Then those lines line up further, and further still, until girls and boys are scattered around, but standing perfectly still, as if they were in a line, which they are not. No, hello children. Gather close. Closely, I won’t harm you. Look at my toes, let them find you here. Come to them, to the toes. The snow begins to crash and crumble, something is weakening. Something isn’t as it should be, but it is doing what it’s going to do: kill every last one of us. So, children, unless you’re prepared to die, come to me. Come into my arms. They are open for you, they always have been. Come to me. Come. We will be crushed together. But we will die together, you all in my arms, and I will take you into death. And just then a fierce blue light erupted from his mouth with sounds of dozens of screaming eagles. He shoved his head into the ground, and from it the walls became flowered with orchids. The children spent some time, each able to pick the orchid of their choosing, and then went home.