| I am pensive. I am as a deer in headlights. I am as the eternal insects of the true dark, those gibber in the periphery. Can you hear them, when the barriers grown thin, halfway in to sleep, over the din and fury, resonating in the whine of a bonesaw. We have more in common with fish and plants than the eleverlasting insect. It is of one mind in many parts that may not even know of the whole. Individual consciousness is a kind of amnesia. The eternal insect that fills the recesses knows you like god knows you and cares nothing still. It stares through you and a thousand other things with the sensibility of an executioner, cruel yet empathic, forcefull yet uninvolved. I have not killed, not even slowed it, and i think that maybe no one shall. It hungers as we do, feasting on our appetites and our desires, gorging on the blood of the thousand lambs and thousand goats we kill a day, sacraficial headlines, celebrated culling of the herd. It stares out at me from the pupil of every eye, it stares back at me from the mirror before me. It could kill me with my own hands. But it doesnt, it just stares, a dull gleaming, a gloating anticipation. I have learned that it's digestive track is infinite, a glowing tunnel of hallucinations and unimaginable torment. It strips you flesh and regrows it but it never damages a singles nerve, it massages you pain centers till they grown huge and snap your little mind apart. I do not fear death though. |
