Lay Down All Thoughts, Surrender To The Void

By Sean Keenan

I am slowly coming out of the worst nightmare Ive enjoyed in years. What wakes me up is the feeling of some ghostly figure laying down next to me in bed. Im gripped with fear. I start moaning a howl as the spit in my mouth begins to pour out my mouth and onto my pillow. Sleep paralysis prevents me from slinging my arm around to bash the precence which resides next to me. Eventually I'm in control of my body. The smell of saliva is rampant and I cannot get the vivid dream out of my head. It was an unexpected horror movie with the twist ending catching me off guard. How could the protagonist, a mixture between me experiencing it in the first and third person be so tricked? How the fuck could my mind conjour up something so horrific?

I can fathom a guess. I look around myself and my precarious situation - a situation of uncertainty and dread and I see where the nightmare was bred from. Although I don't treat my own brain with the respect it deserves, it neither cares nor sympathises with my idea of it. It produces - in realistic graphic horror - the true nature of what its capable of. Im merely the person residing inside of it. I am Sean's raging sense of disbelief. How did this happen? Again, I can fathom a guess. This is a wake up call. All the knowledge I have acquired is sitting there in a dormant room within the recesses of my mind. This raw emotion within is unleashed in the most graphic way possible.
I must accept - truly accept I have finite albeit important control over the events that occur next. I want to talk to her, tell her everything, tell her how heavy my heart is. Yet the same knowledge that lead me here - the little I actually do take notice of - holds me back. Tells me to chill. Tells me you'll just dig yourself in a bigger hole. I take this advice and live with it, sink or swim.

So what is there left to do? There is only one option and I keep fighting it. I fight it because I loathe anything, including the nature of reality, telling me what to do. Fuck you I say. Fuck you and you're annoying ideas. And yet there is nothing listening. Nothing getting offended by my remarks. Nothing getting offended by my anger. I want to cry. I look around at my filthy room and think, whatever this is, it isn't happiness. I struggle by myself. I dont value myself enough. What am I doing to myself?  There is only one option. I know what it is in my heart of hearts but its not as simple as just doing it - years of neglect are difficult to break. So here I sit, in purgatory. For now, it's about letting things sink in and realising that a revolt lingers in the near future.

The revolution will not be televised.