Reality is the Irregularity of the Past.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Journal: 04/29/10

It was just past ten, when I arrived at the house last night. Something deranged I felt, maybe from breezy ardor of night driving. That attempt to arrive earlier than the time it takes to reach a given destination; the almost full moon eying me the whole way home.
"Get your shit! Duck!" were the words the that crushed the inner anvil upon my own venture across my own threshold. Dark, blackness, was the setting, "Close that fucking door!" came across in the fluctuations of sound followed by something of glass crushing against the wall just off my left shoulder.
"Dammit!" was my retort as I crouched against the wall and felt for a light switch, "What the Fuck is going on?"
No return voice as the light switched on, and it was then that I was glad to know the swiftness that light could travel--well not conclusively known, but I did envision a large amount of zeros followed by a smaller two-digit number sitting perched just above the caboose zero claiming a to-the-power-of-me status.
Looking forward braced in an entranced gaze at something that might stand parallel to me, and hoping and not hoping this something was nothing, but it spoke.
"Fuck You!" it said and I, behind a curtain chose to look where there wasn't a curtain to be found but on the window. However, saw that there were no legs jutting downward, nor was there a bulge in the fabric that should beg another's existence beyond.
I said nothing to this thing that shouldn't be speaking but spoke still, and I went searching. Who's in my house?; When did they get there?;Why did they lock the door?; Who is it?; were the questions of the natural sequence that I, to myself, was asking.
"Over here fuck-head," came from my couch this time and I to horror walked and with, found but my own black cat staring at me with his green-yellow eyes.
"Watch the fucking road!" he screamed, followed by a spine-tingling honk. I saw his eyes morph into the eyes of bright lights, and the car that had honked was still honking. I straightened in my seat and aimed the car toward the shoulder of the highway. In adrenaline induced awareness, I maneuvered impossibility, and around my own mind winding--I used my excitement to cleave it still--winding, and winding. I, unscathed from not crashing, continued upon correcting and from the incident...
"That was intense, you should stay on the road next time," came the voice in my passenger seat. He was wearing Aviator sunglasses, adorned in black leather pants, and an Native American beaded necklace. It was then the radio started talking, and singing, about strange people and rain.
"Yep," I replied, "intense indeed."

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