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So I was sitting on the stairs with a dry mouth, surrounded by a variety of friends, randoms, people who I remembered exchanging words or a knowing glance with at some earlier time, and the background chatter had become a kind of incomprehensible static hum that weaved its way through the tinny distortion in my ears, and what may or may not have been some type of internal mental noise.
A distant bass rumble echoed up from the submarine that was relentlessly ploughing through the depths below, which was felt rather than heard:
- None
of the
Sound hung in the air with enough definition to command my
attention, - and so my focus was elsewhere, turned inward. An internal monologue ticked over quietly, conspiring to eventually trip me up with a complicated thought that would require an arbitrary, and in any other situation completely purposeless, mission.
- But for the moment I was thinking in satisfying spirals. Asking myself questions that I knew I could answer, the verification of my emotional predicament itself being an element of the contentless calm and instinctive lack of bad that enveloped me. Pleasure never once disappeared over the emotional horizon, merely hovering in the distance waiting for any excuse to return, with the return of some friends, or with merely the right mental flexing.
- For
now, though, I was content with meandering serenity. The transparent
nature of my thoughts was unbounded by the usual idea that the content
of one’s mental realm must have a rigid connection with things
in the world, and so I occasionally launched inspirational flights over
intriguing conceptual landscapes that broke up the simple “Am I happy
here?
Yes I am happy here.” - At this point I had no memories to speak of, but from the perspective of absolute time, earlier in the night I had been on the dancefloor, staring into the sweeping searchlight of a soviet gunship helicopter, the whole experience terrifyingly big and loud, with the thrill of such an overwhelming mechanism always coinciding with the implicit threat of potential violence.
- Limbs flying everywhere, a chaotic mass of flesh contorting in a crude celebration of physicality. The leviathan had me targeted and fired off a round of irresistible drum rolls. Am I coming up? If you have to ask, then you probably aren’t. But it’s a good three quarters of an hour now… Is this it? I think we’ve been burnt, I’m chewing but that’s it. I like this tune though.
- Don’t buy from someone in the queue. Or maybe I just
swallowed it the
wrong way, at right angles to the
proper method..