…he had experienced something like an Imperative Reaction. His mind was a flutter, a shattered mirror, wrapped around itself like a Coil. His only respite came in the form of a dream, yet all he could remember was crossing a river, walking on water, carrying a Skinny Puppy. Sleepy, tired, yet restless, he decided to rise and burn the Midnight Oil. Onto the damned computer, he logged on and envisioned an Aghast View. He imagined the word H Y P N O S K U L L over and over in his head. So he rose to his knees, faced the ceiling and recited in prayer, “Ah Cama Sotz!” seeking relief, escape – an escape from his synapses…a Synapscape! On This Morn’ Omina he promised himself something different. He forced upon himself another dream, where he’s standing atop Xingu Hill. Here, he could find a respite from the world’s toils. Here, he could find rest. And here is where he came upon a figure standing atop Xingu Hill in front of a small church, a Ministry of the damned.
The figure invited the man inside. So in he walked. And what did he find in there? Nirvana. Jocelyn Pook was there, playing the violin, her eyes never breaking contact with his. For reasons unknown, it hurt to look into her eyes, but he couldn’t turn away. When her performance was done, she walked up to him, leaned in closely, and whispered into his ear, “I’m the white rabbit, and this is My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult.” She then introduced him to Lord Quasimoto, half man, half animal with a high pitched voice. He squeaked, “Nigga, this is your new birthday. On this 33rd day of November Novelet,…” He could hear the Lord no more. He wasn’t in the church anymore. He wasn’t standing atop the hill. When he came to, he was sitting at his computer, fantasizing the most ridiculous of dreams, all the while documenting them in a blog of little importance, and of even less relevence. Insomnia is a bitch.
I feel like such a Tool!