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| 0 users currently in Sunset Waterfall. |
| User | Post |
| Stitch Posts: 1241/2785 |
You're gonna turn the whole thing into a song? Sure, by all means. As long as I get credit as it being my moment of sanity. |
| Van Rhanell Posts: 296/337 |
Cool ......Uh, may I turn that into a song?
I've never heard as vivid a tale of a wierd day such as this one. The subtle humor about Windows Vista was my favorite part, that might actually be true. I've heard some sort of presence before speak to me in a language I can't understand, but it also may have been english and I instantly forgot the sounds. The best guess from me is that your 'trip' was a combination of thoughts, photographic memory and a little bit of reality gone out of sequence, and it's cool to know things like that can happen (without drugs). |
| Stitch Posts: 1214/2785 |
This is not a story. The following is my current journal entry, written in a brief moment of (in)sanity at hearing a noise...among other things. It doesn't really belong in Story Realm (since it's not), but is more of a glimpse into the world that lives within me. My slight schizophrenia, paranoia, and genius muddles together to produce this:
Today, while driving in the land of lost, a moment of ultra-clear lucidity hit and I was transported into another realm. I "returned" several minutes later to discover that I was not lost somewhere in the maze of streets of East Los Angeles, but sitting in the parking structure at EA Mobile. Almost Matrix-esque in nature, but unlike the astral realm, a brief flash of light in the rearview mirror opened a portal in front of me. Everything around me disappeared, slowly at first, into a single bright spot in front of me. I was left standing, I suppose, in an abyss of the concept of nothingness. There was no sound, no atmosphere, no sight, but it was filled with nothing. The spot erased--vanished as quickly as it had appeared--and I was left feeling absolutely nothing. In the distant absence of the speed of darkness, a figure appeared, flowing gingerly towards me. He bore a striking resemblance to an entity I had once known. His flowing appendages chillingly pierced through my body, wrenching through my inner being, destroying what little vision of everything existed within me. I received a single message from the moment, in a language I cannot comprehend, "hzecj tykiz foL wuztilrre aIolmk, kilsU?" Is it code? What does it mean? I stepped out of my car, being an hour late for work because of my adventure in East LA, walking down the lobby to the service elevator. My reflection in the lobby mirrors appearing drastically distorted, moreso than usual. Life rendered ever so slowly before me, but it didn't matter. I knew what lay ahead despite its lack of rendering at the normal speed of life. It was as if the world within lacked the resources and memory access to create the land around me. The fifth floor was slow to render, showing partial constructions of the security locked door, the walls within the cubicle area, my computer. Coworkers walked past me, a myriad of internal organs chirping away at nothing, the skin slowing appearing and covering their exposed internals. Was the computer of life disappearing? Had some idiot installed Windows, and it was hogging resources and disintegrating life around me? Was I just about to be rebooted to clear the RAM? I sat, at my station, staring at my phone with its Tetris running. Lunch time, thirty minutes later, I'm standing at the soda machine. I don't remember setting down the phone. I don't remember walking there. I don't remember acquiring the 25 cents needed for the machine. After depositing the change and retrieving my ice-cold Cactus Cooler, I step out of the kitchen into cubicle land realizing that the area beyond that is missing and has been replaced by a giant white plane. I turn around, and the plane has engulfed everything. A bright light flashes again, and I am sitting at my computer typing up a bug I found, the Nokia sitting in front of me, beyond the keyboard a cup of tea steams. And, the post-it that had the phone app specs on it now reads, "Vista will crash planet." I blink, and it's gone. My lead walks over and asks me something. I stare at him blankly, and he motions if I had enough sleep. I nod my head and continue staring. Words leave my mouth but I can't hear them or make sense of them. He nods and walks back to his computer. Tetris is all I hear. Is the world running on Vista, and has its generated populace finally caught up? Will the development of the universe's operating system by the very beings that it automates finally cause a paradoxian crash that will cause everything to cease? And, if so, who will hit the Ctrl+Alt+Delete sequence that will reset us? It reminds me of a concept that I laugh at everytime I see it. The introduction for the Sims 2 features sims playing the sims playing the sims playing the sims playing the sims, ending on a couple of sims making out while their game of the sims plays on a TV. Within the game, your sim can play the Sims 2 on any videogame or computer. Which begs the question? Are we just ourselves being controlled by ourselves on another plane? Was I "told" by some drop down menu to sit at this computer and "blog" to raise my charisma points? Have I seen the fabric of life, and in turn by sharing it, have caused a further degredation? Or, is this just another one of my lucid visions set in for the purpose of whatever splendor my brain is dumping as "unable to process" junk? Computers are advancing to the point that objects render so much quickly than ever before. But, to what do we compare these renderings? I believe the fastest anything can render is the human eye and the powerful brain behind it. Think about it. The eye renders anything faster than we could possibly think. It, in conjunction with the brain, reproduces images faster than the best image handling computer out there. As I type, I hear a scratching sound coming from what sounds like beneath my desk or inside the wall. I am thinking that it is a mouse, however, the scratching only appears as I type and is quite intermittent. I am sitting perfectly still, the only motion coming from my chest (breathing) and hands. When I stop typing the noise stops. I can sit perfectly still, doing nothing more than breathing and hear nothing more than the hum of the refrigerator and the low rumble of the far-off freeway. The scratching stops. It restarts when I start typing. It's driving me sane (I'm already insane). Why does the scratching (it sounds like a marble rolling on a wooden desk, or being tapped on a wooden desk) start when I type, and cease when I cease? A mouse is not this consistent. I try typing slower and quieter, in an effort to access where the noise is coming. It starts up again, almost matching my diminished speed. Where is it? Why is it tormenting me? Why? Why? It stops when I stop. It starts up when I start. It becomes more frequent and more audible if I increase my typing speed. It diminishes if I slow down and hit the keys more softly. Is it safe? I am consumed by the origin of this sound. I am intrigued by the sound. I know not what it is. Is it under my desk? Is it in my head? Is it real? Am I real? Am I awake? I hear...my hard drive clicking. I close my eys,and the sound increases, this time behind me. All around me, little scratches moving along the walls. I stop typing. Nothing at all. I decrease my typing speed to around one letter per second. The noise appeats briefly about once every four words. It's scrathing. It's annoyance. I increase my speed again, and the sound gets louder, more violent and closer. It's creeping towards me...what is it? Is it a mouse? Is it just reacting to my typing? Is it? Dammit, someone tell me what the fuck it is. I violently push back my chair, almost throwing it across the room, tearing at the junk beneath my desk crawling towards the sound's apparent origin. Flashlight in hand, I dive beneath my desk and discover nothing. I resume typing, the sound is back. More intense than ever. Is it the desk? Desperation clutches at me. It's the desk, isn't it? Creaking under each keypress. I lift my wrists and continue to type rather than resting them on the laptop. The desk and laptop creak. The sound is gone. I was generating the sound? I was generating the sound that was driving me sane? I was creating the marble sound that caused me to dive under my desk in search of nothing? I discovered what the sound was...the little plastic padded door cover to the PC Card slots. That little card, scraping ever so subtly on the desk caused my brain to unhinge in a manner I had never before experienced. Wow. Any thoughts? Questions? Concerns? Share in the insanity as well? Since I fully admit to being insane, I do declare this as my moment of clear sanity. |
