He spoke of strange things, things that made no sense at all, and yet somehow rang true. He told me that giants pushed the rocks that made the waves, but we couldnt see them because we were on the wrong harmony, and that we are blind to the universe as it really is. He went on for a long time about how the perceived spectrum of light changes on a mass scale, every 175,000,000 years, and that we were not the first intelligent beings to claim this planet as their own. He told me that the moon was created by the third empire, and that we are the 15th empire. I can only assume he meant humans, but he didnt elaborate as to what the Fifteenth Empire pertained to, and I didnt asked.
All the while, I caught no gleam of insanity in his eyes, no raving at all. He was quite calm and collected, and none of this seemed even slightly unusual to him. He told me of a great spider that wove the fabrics of reality like its own web, and occasionally feasted on those foolish enough to get caught. My mind reeled, as I tried to make sense of it all. He lavishly interwove tenses and time in such ways that sometimes after hed break in speaking, I hadnt been sure if the story he told was about himself, or me, but I had practically lived it.
And always I felt he was flitting around the edges allowing me to see a small portion of the truth, and then dancing me away in another direction before I knew too much. I felt that if I fully understood what he was saying, my mind would simply explode from the sudden influx of information; more importantly, I felt he knew it as well, and was taking me to the very limit I could handle. At times his eyes seemed like some starry, inky fluid, not like human eyes at all, but cardboard cut-outs revealing the horrid truth beneath. They were flat and empty, like they werent in sync with the geometry of the world.
He would smile and my fear would be gone, and I think that was probably good, because I remember being very frightened. In fact, I was terrified, because I didnt know how I had gotten there, and I wasnt dreaming, this was real, THIS WAS REAL, JESUS CHRIST THIS WAS REALLY HAPPENING
Im sorry.
So I write this in the language of dreams because that is the true language, the old language, the first and the most perfect of languages; as did my companion spoke in harsh, clipped tones that suggested not so much that he hadnt ever spoken English before, but rather that he had never used his speech organs before.
He told me that what I would remember would be tailored to his needs, and not mine, and yet he gave me the impression that his needs WERE my needs, but that didnt make sense to me then anymore than it does now. Whenever I try to remember what he looks like, I am left with two mental images. One is of a well-dressed man, very thin, with pale blond hair and a lean European look, maybe that of a Frenchman. This is what my memory tells me, but I know its false. The other image I see if almost like a cartoon its of a larger version of myself, his face comically evil, bend over a marionette, and controlling its movements. Alarming as that is, I look move deeply, the larger version of myself also has wires. Is he also being controlled? What is this? Is this real?
What was I talking about? I feel odd. Like my mind wasnt my own anymore. What is wait. Wait?
I think Im okay now. We were talking about the man I was discussing. Where did he go? Wasnt he? No, he came back around the other way. Yes. Yes, hes in there waiting for me now. I must go and see him.
He must come and see us.
All the while, I caught no gleam of insanity in his eyes, no raving at all. He was quite calm and collected, and none of this seemed even slightly unusual to him. He told me of a great spider that wove the fabrics of reality like its own web, and occasionally feasted on those foolish enough to get caught. My mind reeled, as I tried to make sense of it all. He lavishly interwove tenses and time in such ways that sometimes after hed break in speaking, I hadnt been sure if the story he told was about himself, or me, but I had practically lived it.
And always I felt he was flitting around the edges allowing me to see a small portion of the truth, and then dancing me away in another direction before I knew too much. I felt that if I fully understood what he was saying, my mind would simply explode from the sudden influx of information; more importantly, I felt he knew it as well, and was taking me to the very limit I could handle. At times his eyes seemed like some starry, inky fluid, not like human eyes at all, but cardboard cut-outs revealing the horrid truth beneath. They were flat and empty, like they werent in sync with the geometry of the world.
He would smile and my fear would be gone, and I think that was probably good, because I remember being very frightened. In fact, I was terrified, because I didnt know how I had gotten there, and I wasnt dreaming, this was real, THIS WAS REAL, JESUS CHRIST THIS WAS REALLY HAPPENING
Im sorry.
So I write this in the language of dreams because that is the true language, the old language, the first and the most perfect of languages; as did my companion spoke in harsh, clipped tones that suggested not so much that he hadnt ever spoken English before, but rather that he had never used his speech organs before.
He told me that what I would remember would be tailored to his needs, and not mine, and yet he gave me the impression that his needs WERE my needs, but that didnt make sense to me then anymore than it does now. Whenever I try to remember what he looks like, I am left with two mental images. One is of a well-dressed man, very thin, with pale blond hair and a lean European look, maybe that of a Frenchman. This is what my memory tells me, but I know its false. The other image I see if almost like a cartoon its of a larger version of myself, his face comically evil, bend over a marionette, and controlling its movements. Alarming as that is, I look move deeply, the larger version of myself also has wires. Is he also being controlled? What is this? Is this real?
What was I talking about? I feel odd. Like my mind wasnt my own anymore. What is wait. Wait?
I think Im okay now. We were talking about the man I was discussing. Where did he go? Wasnt he? No, he came back around the other way. Yes. Yes, hes in there waiting for me now. I must go and see him.
He must come and see us.