I was waiting to see a movie tonight and while sitting on the side of Broadway near lincoln center I cooked this up.
It's a start to something...but what?
My mind is wholly blank.
It's suffered a surge - been blown out.
The phenomenal force of living overwhelmed my supply - my security and built heat inside my tender circuits.
Failsafes exploded in intermittent and sometimes simultaneous neuro-biological displays of supernovae.
I'm sure a real-time CAT scan of such an event would rival the finest of firework displays with added stimulation due to the mediated monitored meltdown.
I am surprised rainbows of ooze did not leak from my ears and eyes.
How could our world wreak such havok on a fortified mind?
It cannot be certain, as the event's origin was lost in the deluge of a synaptic tsunami.
I am dazzlingly brain dead.
My mind is the only means of recall for such a spectacular disaster.
This mind has since sublimated to alpha wave static and RF white noise.
I am left with a brain stem and whatever rogue nerve centers, still sovereign to my body, that on a mission to maintain my body hope to not lose their own grip on time and space.
So while the senses in my head are fully blown - sight, smell, taste, hearing - I can still touch; not to interpret, but as a means of crude identification.
My hand can still move and freely before me it searches.
For what? To what end?
Like the worm's tail split from the savvy invertebrate brain, it simply moves - inches about - without particular purpose.
It traces, but knows not the resulting design.
It experiences changes in density, but cannot comprehend the vessel or surrounding environment.
It moves about an XYZ axis, but is lost in space.
A flash!
So quick, so visceral, so overexposed.
Like a polaroid of oblivion.
A connection is made.
A clear link between erratic anomalies and -
BANG!
For a moment I smell the acrid, alkaline aftershock of a corroded battery freshly toasted.
I can taste copper notes of fresh blood in what must be my mouth.
Vision! Oh my poor vision! A heaven sent ability squandered on such base sights.
Whatever it is..err was, it lays in pieces - exploded, cauterized pieces.
Flesh and electrical burns.
Scattered about like discarded playthings.
I hear a siren.
Passing as if in that one minute clap of sensational perception I tracked a full doppler pass.
I can make sense of a sense of touch.
Water - or something like it.
Metal.
Edges - boxey.
Jagged anomalies pitting a perfect design.
Finally, before I am remanded to a pink noise prison,
A stump, with a specter of a hand with a thumb still pushing a button.
Another hand, whole, connects a fried, fleshy, odorless...
Well, not of stinking meat at least
...end with a healthy wrist.
And in that instant I remembered.
It was my fault.
The oblivion is not silent.
It is full of static.
thoughts, SG?
It's a start to something...but what?
My mind is wholly blank.
It's suffered a surge - been blown out.
The phenomenal force of living overwhelmed my supply - my security and built heat inside my tender circuits.
Failsafes exploded in intermittent and sometimes simultaneous neuro-biological displays of supernovae.
I'm sure a real-time CAT scan of such an event would rival the finest of firework displays with added stimulation due to the mediated monitored meltdown.
I am surprised rainbows of ooze did not leak from my ears and eyes.
How could our world wreak such havok on a fortified mind?
It cannot be certain, as the event's origin was lost in the deluge of a synaptic tsunami.
I am dazzlingly brain dead.
My mind is the only means of recall for such a spectacular disaster.
This mind has since sublimated to alpha wave static and RF white noise.
I am left with a brain stem and whatever rogue nerve centers, still sovereign to my body, that on a mission to maintain my body hope to not lose their own grip on time and space.
So while the senses in my head are fully blown - sight, smell, taste, hearing - I can still touch; not to interpret, but as a means of crude identification.
My hand can still move and freely before me it searches.
For what? To what end?
Like the worm's tail split from the savvy invertebrate brain, it simply moves - inches about - without particular purpose.
It traces, but knows not the resulting design.
It experiences changes in density, but cannot comprehend the vessel or surrounding environment.
It moves about an XYZ axis, but is lost in space.
A flash!
So quick, so visceral, so overexposed.
Like a polaroid of oblivion.
A connection is made.
A clear link between erratic anomalies and -
BANG!
For a moment I smell the acrid, alkaline aftershock of a corroded battery freshly toasted.
I can taste copper notes of fresh blood in what must be my mouth.
Vision! Oh my poor vision! A heaven sent ability squandered on such base sights.
Whatever it is..err was, it lays in pieces - exploded, cauterized pieces.
Flesh and electrical burns.
Scattered about like discarded playthings.
I hear a siren.
Passing as if in that one minute clap of sensational perception I tracked a full doppler pass.
I can make sense of a sense of touch.
Water - or something like it.
Metal.
Edges - boxey.
Jagged anomalies pitting a perfect design.
Finally, before I am remanded to a pink noise prison,
A stump, with a specter of a hand with a thumb still pushing a button.
Another hand, whole, connects a fried, fleshy, odorless...
Well, not of stinking meat at least
...end with a healthy wrist.
And in that instant I remembered.
It was my fault.
The oblivion is not silent.
It is full of static.
thoughts, SG?