Perhaps the fact that I
I am going insane is proof enough that I'm not.
No, scratch that, I'm not
insane, so much as
my sanity. The more I think about things, like the existence of god, the truth in love, the
goodness in humanity, I feel myself losing control. Not just of my thoughts, but of myself.
There have been days in the past, when I just disappear. Usually for a couple of hours. It
usually happens about every 7 months or so. The rational, part of my brain leaves me to contend
with the primal instincts that have been suppressed by years of
falling into line. When
I get like this, (always in the presence of friends), there are two ways in which they can respond
to what must seem like complete insanity.
Completely dismiss the events, and go on as if nothing is happening at all.
This hardly works, and
usually they are regretful of the incidents at later dates. I theorize that the reasoning for this
is that they did not choose option two, and instead chose to continue repressing themselves, as society
would have them do. From that point on, becoming envious of what seemed like, and was, an invigorating
Submit to the moment.
I have this ability to pull people into my dementia, and when there are people
fueling the fire, it burns ever brighter. We were driving people home, after one of our fun-filled
days, and it just happened.
I managed to get shotgun in Mikes mini-van, and had in my possession a fake
plastic gun. It
was night, the street lights were glowing with their orange radiance and people were crowding the street,
out drinking. Bone Machine by Tom Waits blasted on the stereo. My mind flashed to Dr. Gonzo in
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and suddenly I was
taken over. My better judgment taking the back-seat to my hysteria and dementia...
I imagined myself some sort of lizard
, creeping through the jungle floor
, on the watch for unsuspecting
prey, ready to strike. Then: POW!, I start to scream and yell at passers by, not quite sure why I was
doing any of this, but continuing to do so, only because it was what had to be done...
Now, my friends had their decision to make, and they feel right into my trap. They decided that this
fake plastic gun was the source of all my powers, and felt that if they could get it away from me
I would behave like a well-adjusted suburbanite. Their attempts to confiscate my weapon created an uproar,
and a sense of endangerment, which I would naturally have to defend myself against. I would lay in
waiting for them to make their move, as they did mine, and I would toy with them. Wave the gun in front
of their faces, only increasing their suspicions that it was the gun causing this strange behavior.
As we drove along, I fell further and further into the most primal parts of my psyche. For minutes at
a time, I would stare into the side mirror, convinced that if I turned my head away, I would be attacked,
while trying to fend off the assault coming from the back seat. Until, I spent myself. We arrived back
home, and I fell down onto the couch, and slept the sleep of an innocent child. Waking the next morning,
rejuvenated, and feeling as if I had gained a greater understanding of the world in a whole. While for
the next three weeks or so, I was not allowed near the gun.
Horselover Fat had an exegesis, and an encounter with god. All I have is everything2 Daylogs.
In the colosseum, in the colosseum, in the colosseum, tonight...