2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43
Inhumanity.
I rub my eyes more and more intensely, this black light, it bites into me, penetrates, wounds, burdens me with its incessant ringing of the invisible gold of oncoming headlights, rushed past, and the oncoming gaze remained blazing, yellow, brown, black. Closing my eyes, I look inside myself, rubbing my fingers tightly close the entrance so that no image leaves me without its representation. I press on my eyes more and more, more and more I feel the roundness of the eyeballs, like an egg I roll on a plate, there is no crunch, there is a barely perceptible elasticity of my willpower, and pain, and light, and gold that does not shine, but burns in my head, in the opposite direction, in the opposite direction. With my fingers I press my eyes inward, as if I press the button that launches the film, vivid images await me on the other side of the box, the pressure builds up, I look inside and see only myself.
Diverse and extraordinary, my look at myself fetters my imagination, I do not give myself the opportunity to come up with this novel for myself, only pure vision, only simple perception, only me. Who am I, who will I appear in front of me, will I look inside myself, what will I see there clamping the entrance with my fingers? The headlights of a car, shadows, shadows, there are so many of them, everything is so fuzzy, and this is an unforgettable feeling of terrible detachment, as if I am afraid of my inner essence, which is as inhuman as I am human on the outside. A viscous mass of experiences, locked in the cranium, breaking down in portions, reactions, tics, itching, convulsions, spasms and pain, so burning, to the point of nausea, throbbing and so slowly growing, as if giving you a remote control, and I myself clap on it I gradually increase the level of pain. Fear, disgust, anger, envy, despair, and all this to the impossibly passionate languishes in the garment of complete indifference, to his own feelings, to himself, the inner walls are painted black, he absorbs all this, dissolves in his oil base, makes them motionless and everything freezes, freezes, becomes sticky and dirty, dries up, peels, falls off and turns into dust.
Bright electric arcs in my vision, I see these flashes, they are so real, these lightning in my inner world, pouring rains of sweat and tears are falling, the thunder of anger is thundering, the storm is raging, and I am not in a hurry, I am fine with this, I am not I feel the forces of the wind, this spirit does not blow through my soul, I am completely streamlined for this metaphorical old man, my soul is made of black alloy brought from distant space, for billions of years this black obelisk has been frozen in space, and now it stands under lightning strikes in the opposite direction, honking, grinding brakes, gold headlights, no, no, it's not that. I look deeper, that behind all this, that this odyssey is able to reveal to me what I am looking for there, cold fingers press harder on the pliable apples of the eyes, more, more intensely, rub in meanings, drive them right into the brain, gold of light, black walls, grinding of brakes teeth, and pain, pain, nausea, everything comes from the depths of me, everything fills me slowly, so sadistically, a finger claps on the remote control, increasing the intensity of the pain. What is it that awakens in me?
A huge density of packed feelings merged into one insensibility. There are so many of them, they are so different, and I am one. So trivial, so strange, I keep the entrance closed, put pressure on the visible elements of perception, and it all hurts and aches, while I'm in the middle of the bare space of my impassable, unrestrained emptiness. Why do you need to experience such pain if there is nothing inside it? So funny, so sad.
So inhuman.
To be a person in your secretions, filling them with a meaningless emptiness, while remaining yourself, definitely geolacational, relatively and absolutely, under pressure, unconditionally and still indifferent to yourself.
I can scream inside myself as much as I want, no one will ever hear me. There are no people there. There is a zone of inhumanity.
