Perfectly Locked Inside the Univere: A Short Story of Psycho-Delirium

MorningTrip · Jun 16, 2006

So lately I have taken it upon myself to write stories when I'm high, I've just finished the first chapter of the story, which I hope will soon to be many more chapters and I'd like to get it self publish along with much of my poetry.

UPDATE
As of sunday, june 18, 2005 1:06am

Ch. 1: Birth of a Dancing Star

I. Birth of a Dancing Star

“Do you think they'll like the Sun?” The obscurely drawn silhouette of a man holding a gun said to the existentialist with a hole in his chest. The collapsed figure with fading dreams gritted his blood-lined teeth and slipped agonizing slurs of what resembled post-Victorian English through his disoriented lips. He sat in his crimson chair and stared into the immaculate glass that stood ever so tall upon an engraved French dining table. Suspended in air was a bottle which refused to admit it was half empty. Through the barrel of a neck, hazed a scent that resembled that thereof which smelled like nickle and apple. It filled the taphouse with the truly unique history of how the company was founded. The place was horrifically beautiful in it’s entirety. Ivy engravings sprawled across the mahogany walls that held up the roof and kept everything in order of divinity. Linear shaped paintings of glorious art nouveau decorated the dim-lit social gathering.

I looked up to face the life-eating organism that destroys heads by shouting thunder in their ears and slips eye-burning visions into your brain until you’ve gone insane. The new creature’s eye’s seemed to grow higher than the skies with more and more blots of black ink.

“By their logic, pasta soup and Spanish cigarettes are equally, and reasonably alleged to partake in Psychoanalysis as Freudian disciples.” Bleeding, the subtle Existentialist spoke in brief monotones as if to dislodge any logical fallacies that might try to abridge his intelligence.

Suddenly the Silhouette sat upright in his chair, wrapped against the cold, steel rail of his silver frame-bound sitting device. His eye’s focused on the hole in the man’s chest. His dilated pupils spiraled like stairs into the sky as if the taphouse had suddenly opened up and nothing existed except the sky, and shouted “But wait, what is that humming noise?”. In moderation, the sky darkened and changed to a red-orange atmosphere.

Severing the garden which made up the tropo-, strato-, meso-, thermo-, and exosphere’s until all were gone and thus letting the sun lock the circular-but-not-flat planet which we had no other idea except to call it earth in perfectly clear view of it’s lavishing- burning constant waves of death and heat, was said to be a force less great than that of a lightbulb. I looked into the sun’s eyes and saw everything immaculately clear; I could touch it, and it would vanish instantly because of it’s fragility. Soon the floor beneath my feet blazed like little rocks of coal scorching an animal minus the flesh. As I discoursed my eyes across my environment which sat linear and flat on a sky that seemed to create the surface on a ball I knew surly doesn’t exist, or shouldn’t, the world came to a slow blur. I was afraid to stand or walk or move, or even think for fear of further loathing! Run from the oven! My eyes swelled up and filled with radioactive gas from the eclipsing sun until they burst open and let loose a wave of blood and atmosphere that seemed to cloud my mind with confusion and a constant rendering box of thoughts until I realized I was still perfectly locked inside the universe...

The Coffee-impregnated eyes followed suit to the dancing insomniac frames of life that do not reflect, but create. In brief lemony-anxious moments, judgmental serpents ponder, "Can notebooks hold our frozen dreams? Can the liquid-bleeding, cicada burning-like pinkish nipple cannons that bear into the mind's eye perceive, and click, like our ideas?" Capture and pause, to let an ashtray tear crush our ever-dreaming souls as we refuse to let our human frailties conflict upon our anxious ecstacy-esque silhouette parasites we delightedly enlight a thousands tries. Make us swim in purgatory so that it brings us to our knees at the purest liquor-esque tastes of that which we distinguish and repent to our lord and gleefully accept the opportunity to mesmerize and indulge in our momentary lapse of creating images and sounds that makes us feel as though we are given the world of beauty into a saucer until we fall into a logical-induced suicide.

All but our surrounding environment became real. As the shadows passed and uncovered the true nature of a befriended eclipse of the moon, as his figure may announce. His surface has been aged with divinity and sorrow brushed into a box with the steel razor being slid across the gloss barrier of a dry-erase board sweeping an herb into a tin canister. His paradigm moved awry is a dissemination-esque pattern that would eventually return into a single object. And man followed suit.

I followed you into the desert. Something happened while we were out there, yet I still feel the world around me functioning normally...

“Why do you wear that window, those sinking pyramids and that terrible monolith?” The Existentialist faced towards the anatomically incorrect, and very scaley figure who created pictures which were engraved through vibrant colors of magnificent aurora for essentially every moment in history, upon each and every one of his scales on his flesh. The desert swept out and return to the corners of my eyes to which I responded simply with raising my hand to eye-level and scratching away the minuscule irritating grains of sand in hopes of relieving my restlessness with the consequence of disturbing by visual patterns and causing a single drop of tear to draw near the bottom of my chin, where it patiently waited for gravity to separate the bond that bound us together.

The Serpent, unable to respond for specific anatomical reasons pointed me in the direction of a door. To be more exact, a red door randomly placed within the confinement of the desert.

As I reached out for the door, my hand felt a thunder clap of divinity shifting throughout my body as if I had been experiencing a religious seance. And then I entered. I had become an entity traveling through the universe as if leaving into another available time in the past. Beyond the red door was a naked woman. She was beautiful. But had no soul to tell. They told me she would rebuild my mind with broken condoms, quarter-inch screws and strips of pink velvet. I walked towards her as light passed up from the sand on which I walked. Red was her color. Red’s entire body shimmered with intense pleasure as legs jumbled together in a subliminal erotica of sand-dune dreams and peyote buttons. Later, as we regained our thoughts, she told me how everything was going to be all right; it’s all just a dream.

I awoke on the edge of insanity breathing the free air I was naturally given. My body, faced toward the sea and sitting comfortably on a rather large stone was greeted by the winding hollow of the Snake. It’s eyes swelled with flames and sprang forward into the gab between my thumb and forefinger. I felt the moisture-laden beast crawling through my veins and dragging with it a layer of blood vessels. As a direct result, my muscles tightened and slid together creating a smooth path for the Snake’s destination, wherever that may become. As it crawled into my thought and wrapped it’s cold exterior along my vocal cords, the Snake approached with a shivering motion in order to control my voice and speak to me. Thus spoke:

“Cogito ergo sum...”

...Why?

“Well, indeed my friend. Blatantly put, you still exist. You are thinking, are you not?

I know I’m thinking... is there any reason why I shouldn’t be thinking-

“Incredibly so! Nobody else thinks anymore, they all simply disseminate into nothing more. Yes... tid’ bit of a tragedy, I must say”

I still don’t understand... such accusations without reason of insanity make one a weak person of equiangular perspective adjacent to red-eyed cigarette stains. An impeccable disaster-

“Disaster at it’s worst, yes. Sadly.. an absolute disaster of, well... life.”

That’s impossible-

“Only inevitable.”

It must have happened sometime during the core of my death. I’d like to think there’s a reason but my current state of existence tells me there’s not-

“There are none, simply you, and your thoughts.”

What happened to my life? I should live, I deserve to control my life-

“You deserve nothing! Say, ho. Welcome to the machine of quasi-anti-morality. Your God fearing ways cannot protect you any longer, particular mad men shall be graced with the wine from the vine of sin. Morality is a vile, incestuous, auto-masticating serpent. Nearly every universal religion has taught us to follow a strict set of morals. That's basically exactly what a religion is; a set of morals, ergo: a safety net vilified by an installment of fears. If you fail to follow the morals, you're reward, or lack of reward is eternal separation from divinity. Morality can be thought of as a synonymous term for power. With morals, mass populations can be deceived and organized into a masquerade of a (falsely) established "good" society. Why are morals wrong if they keep criminals in check, and followers in an equal and opposite check? Simply because morals provoke disassociation of our ego. If morals prevent any one person from experiencing total freedom with regards to others, then why bother living if one cannot control their own thoughts? If you give in to the power of fear, you let others destroy your freedom to exist in any form you decide for yourself. Morality is sinful to the fundamentals of the human experience.”

Well yes, but it’s not your place to judge-

“Right you are, yet again! I am only furthermore implying you forced yourself into a fishnet of puppetry and sex slaves. And with that I bid adu, and vanish to nothing more than a cloud of logic.”

Thanks for the memory...
Click to expand...

sodomizedjello · Jun 18, 2006

i read it

ima comment, ok?

you used bunches and bunches of adjectives =/

you had some really nice sentences

kind of felt like it skipped around. iunno, didn't flow right =/ but what do i know? it added to the headtrip at times, tho.

cool story. crazy headtrip, it would be neat if you wrote more stuff like that.

Palmer Eldritch · Jun 18, 2006

yeah dude, you're trying so hard to describe something and I have no idea what it is.

MorningTrip · Jun 18, 2006

Palmer Eldritch said:

yeah dude, you're trying so hard to describe something and I have no idea what it is.
Click to expand...

You're absolutely right! Everything is supposed to be confusing, it's only the first chapter.

Palmer Eldritch · Jun 18, 2006

it seems to be confusing just for the sake of being confusing..../time elapse/... But I reread it after several bong tokes It always helps me gather a visual landscape from the words and I do like your writing. It made me think it was depicting a nuclear blast or a more literal nearby supernova and the death of the narrator and his journey on another plane. Or the transitioning through the bardos but from a more common death. Then again it could be the start of an extremely profound trip.

i guess just make sure all your descriptions and metaphors are relavent and used just when needed as the subject matter itself is going to be abstract.
keep it coming.

MorningTrip · Jun 18, 2006

Palmer Eldritch said:

it seems to be confusing just for the sake of being confusing..../time elapse/... But I reread it after several bong tokes It always helps me gather a visual landscape from the words and I do like your writing. It made me think it was depicting a nuclear blast or a more literal nearby supernova and the death of the narrator and his journey on another plane. Or the transitioning through the bardos but from a more common death. Then again it could be the start of an extremely profound trip.

i guess just make sure all your descriptions and metaphors are relavent and used just when needed as the subject matter itself is going to be abstract.
keep it coming.
Click to expand...

Well, it's all intricately designed in this plan I have in my head for the entire concept of the story. Although, I shall expand on Ch.1 a bit more as to not discourage the sober reader.

stash_up · Jun 19, 2006

very cool

Ashes_White · Jun 23, 2006

Just read the whole thing. I personally love the whole surreal, mad-rant style that was formulated during this story's conception. So far, the words and phrases remind me of the Mars Volta, and thats a bonus because their lyrics are insanely good. I going to try to read this stoned tomorow!

Keep up the awsome work!

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