Being whizzed through realities in a trillion tiny pieces at the speed of thought is an indescribable experience. Think about it for a moment and you may remember it, though I’m doubtful. But think hard. I mean, it was the feeling you had just as you were born into the world, and you’ll have again just after you die, yet somehow you’ll forget it. Everyone does.
Give it a try, though, and think hard! If you’re lucky enough to find that memory, never forget it. Those moments of being broken apart, yet somehow feeling whole, are as painful as they are informative.
I suspect our forgetfulness arises during transport, because some of the inter-dimensional parasites that carry us end up colliding with other very tiny bits of reality and die. I did see several die just before the remaining parasites smashed me back together. It’s a sight which causes the most severe emotional trauma one can experience. Imagine watching a piece of your very essence be literally obliterated in an instant, and there is nothing you can do about it. I mean, if you know what it’s like to suspect that the universe is slowly trying to murder you, taking a piece of you at a time without explanation, then you’re getting close to understanding.
Since such thoughts are difficult to deal with, I suppose we suppress them deep, deep down inside and wait till the rules and procedures of a new reality inform our sense of self and cover-up all things that came before the trauma of transportation. However, this time, perhaps due to my god-like sight, I was able to witness the destruction with my own eyes, and somehow I seemed to remember.
At the moment when every surviving piece of me collided back together, there was a faint bang, as if I was going through the same cycles as the universe itself. But who knows. Lord knows seeing more makes me understand less, though I’m convinced of one thing — this universe, or reality contraption, or whatever this place is, is a fucked up and ambivalent place.
“Ambivalent” is a word I learned at the end of this adventure, and it’s a word I wish I knew a long time ago. It seems to describe so many things.
Anyway, being thrust into some new and confusing bullshit, the parasites brought me back together again, though without any discernible sense of form. The whole ordeal made me nearly forget about my mission to destroy physical reality. It was just so disorienting!
I felt like I should’ve been more sympathetic towards the dumbfounded faces on the dead when they arrived at my work station. Transitions can be tough.
“Squirming” about aimlessly, it was as if I was floating through a kaleidoscope of colours, sounds, smells, and sensations. Around me little neon lights blinked off and on and appeared to speak in Morse code. Here is the way in which one of the lights blinked:
And another one blinked like this:
In time, I became accustomed to this new reality, and a sense of knowing came over me. Everything was still abstract and undefined, but somehow I knew I was within the realm of the Apocalypse Planning Committee — the same bastards that got me in such a rage in the first place.
When I remembered my rage, the whole reality around me began to taste like freshly-squeezed orange juice — my favorite beverage. This reminded me of my sweet Gena and the last sip of orange juice I’d given her before she moved on to liking Philip and apple juice. Grade 1 was a bitch, that’s for sure.
“Somebody help me,” I tried to scream, but had no device to transmit sound. Instead, I automatically lit up like a ball of fire, then diminished over and over again, spelling out my words in beats of light.
As I “spoke” the neon lights around me fluttered with colour in a manner that reminded me of laughing. Then the whole reality suddenly tasted and smelled like shoe polish. A distinctive and bitter product that was often forced upon me when my father returned home from work.
Then the lights blinked this sequence in unison:
And the whole reality began to taste light rotten eggs, and sour grapes.