art-time-collective

Hysterical, like a wino in the early stages of being locked in a stream-room, he came barrelling down in attempt to stagger over the bath-tub half-wall mid-way through a lengthy, sweaty, sticky shower experience. “Has my last ounce of sanity finally & truly run down the drain?” he questioned to himself very seriously, for his sanity could take ages to cycle back into that very shower-stall. He lay wrapped in plastic shower-curtain on the cold, hard, second-story tile-floor. Every angle seemed to him like an entirely new perspective on the whole experience. And with each perspective, experience was gained. He began to experience more and more thoroughly until he himself, became the experience. And now he was the entire experience. He was, to the greatest of his potential, experiencing himself, from the inside out. It was the way his body was reacting to the outside coming in, and he had no control. So much information was being transmitted at every given moment through involuntarily controlled ports in the body that housed him. And he liked it, a lot. His brain & his mind were flooded with juices and thoughts, respectively. He felt like a slimy, tiny, helpless baby straight out of the womb.

One beat to the surging next, he, a solid mass of soft, moist flesh pressed up against the clammy floor, could hear her breath and feel her steady pulse below. The building was becoming a beast. She cast synthetic shadows on herself and all that she housed. Her belly rumbled deep first, then murmur-low. Slowly his mind became one with the beast. Like horse & rider. He could hear every car-door in the neighbourhood slamming one after another after another after another under the street-lights that reflected off their shiny steel hoods.

He could have written a novel with all the given information taken in by his various bodily sensors at any given point during the experience, had there been a translator that could surpass the blood/brain barrier.

Like a sentient periodic table, his logical mind sensed the elements. Their chemical and their physical properties really do re-occur religiously in this environment. His thoughts divided like cells. Here he was, but how had he gotten there? All of this information, but who had arranged it in this particular manner, and why? He was beginning to feel claustrophobic, contained. And containers really do separate two elements (or more) from one another. What if orange-juice got in his new headphones? They were seriously Hi-Fi! It amazed him that somewhere amongst the clay, the neo-humans had found ruthenium and palladium and they distinguished it from the rest. And they discovered uses for them; uses that seem so far-fetched. It is very real. It’s amazing what you can do with some contemporary, yet somehow ancient space debris. After all, he was just space debris himself. The only difference between him and ruthenium was that he could ponder how many ways there are to tie a scarf around and around a tiny space-neck, if he so chose to do so.

For the first time in his speck-of-dust life, he could hear the electricity potential of a-hundred-and-sixty-thousand people crackling outside in the rain. And not only could he hear it, but he began to feel it. He was still the experience, after all, and now the experience was electricity. Not often are people converted into electrical energy travelling at high velocities down aluminium alloy cables high-strung above cities, but here he was. After just moments, the electricity ceased, and he was no more. The fact that it had all happened for a length of time made it significant though, somehow. And there he was, over. The moment that is, was, and always had been, was over. Everything disappeared at the flick of a pencil. The universe shed it’s last layer of skin and crawled up inside it’s own black-hole, disappearing forever, like sunshine in the wind (or perhaps breast-milk).

FIN

Filed under: verse