Hey Jim...All My Rowdy Friends Have Lost Their Minds.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Jim,

Maybe I ranted too much and too long about The Lost Highway, because all my friends - here and IRL - went ahead and got on it, and I haven't seen them since.  I mean, I've heard the screams and the howling of engines and the horrible noises as some of them pile up on the median, but I haven't seen the people I used to know in weeks.

It takes a special kind of mindset to survive that road, Jim, and having that mindset isn't necessarily a good thing.  People with a little more sense tend to go to pieces.  Some get drunk to deal with it, some turn to drugs...and some get a look at the speed limit sign and get The Fear, and then sit in front of a computer all day long, completely paralyzed by what they saw, or lock themselves in their homes and work feverishly on projects to try to block it all out.

Some speed up to try to find an exit ramp, and wind up smacking into that median I mentioned at 120MPH, and they meet the sausage creature.  You DO know about the sausage creature, right Jim?  It's got no teeth and no face and it's limbs just flop around, and what skin it has left is all blotchy and bruised.  Once you meet the sausage creature, you'll never be the same again.

The thing about The Lost Highway, Jim, is that there are no pleasing lies.  All the scenery is as presented, and the billboards say things that most decent people won't even bring up.  It's a huge wasteland of scrub trees and broken dreams, kind of like when you take I10 East from Tucson, into the badlands past Davidson Canyon.  In all honesty, I can't see any rational reason why anyone would go on that road, because there's nothing out there but The Truth, and a lot of people really aren't prepared for that.

The Lost Highway isn't a pleasant drive, certainly not one to take the kids on, and if you lose your nerve, you're done for.  The curves and strange loops and twisted logic require an iron grip on your fear, and the moment you give in - just for a second - POW!  You meet the sausage creature.  This is no century for nervous types, man.  Not at all.

I'd get the hell off myself, but Curly said he saw something important out here, and I at least owe it to him to find out what that was.  But I never should have encouraged my friends to come, too.  Now they've all gone crazy, and I am to blame.

Or Kill Me.

[Bebek Sincap Ratatosk]

Jim,

Maybe I ranted too much and too long about The Lost Highway, because all my friends - here and IRL - went ahead and got on it, and I haven't seen them since.  I mean, I've heard the screams and the howling of engines and the horrible noises as some of them pile up on the median, but I haven't seen the people I used to know in weeks.

It takes a special kind of mindset to survive that road, Jim, and having that mindset isn't necessarily a good thing.  People with a little more sense tend to go to pieces.  Some get drunk to deal with it, some turn to drugs...and some get a look at the speed limit sign and get The Fear, and then sit in front of a computer all day long, completely paralyzed by what they saw, or lock themselves in their homes and work feverishly on projects to try to block it all out.

Some speed up to try to find an exit ramp, and wind up smacking into that median I mentioned at 120MPH, and they meet the sausage creature.  You DO know about the sausage creature, right Jim?  It's got no teeth and no face and it's limbs just flop around, and what skin it has left is all blotchy and bruised.  Once you meet the sausage creature, you'll never be the same again.

The thing about The Lost Highway, Jim, is that there are no pleasing lies.  All the scenery is as presented, and the billboards say things that most decent people won't even bring up.  It's a huge wasteland of scrub trees and broken dreams, kind of like when you take I10 East from Tucson, into the badlands past Davidson Canyon.  In all honesty, I can't see any rational reason why anyone would go on that road, because there's nothing out there but The Truth, and a lot of people really aren't prepared for that.

The Lost Highway isn't a pleasant drive, certainly not one to take the kids on, and if you lose your nerve, you're done for.  The curves and strange loops and twisted logic require an iron grip on your fear, and the moment you give in - just for a second - POW!  You meet the sausage creature.  This is no century for nervous types, man.  Not at all.

I'd get the hell off myself, but Curly said he saw something important out here, and I at least owe it to him to find out what that was.  But I never should have encouraged my friends to come, too.  Now they've all gone crazy, and I am to blame.

Or Kill Me.

Do Nevar Go Without A Designated Driver.

[Cramulus]

this was good, Rog -- It spoke to me very personally. I think I am hiding in my house these days, out of fear.

this must end.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

this was good, Rog -- It spoke to me very personally. I think I am hiding in my house these days, out of fear.

this must end.

You were actually one of the dozen or so people I had in mind, Cram.  You were a little manic over the last few weeks...a little too over the top (Remmington's pics come to mind...Brilliant, but the overall impression was a little wild-eyed).

What I forgot to mention in my last rant about this is that there's two ends to every tunnel, and if you're just as far in as you can stand - and you can't see the light at the end - turn around.  Curly didn't believe that, and he did some great things, but in the end he was mashed flat.  Just more roadkill in the fast lane of the tunnel, and hardly anyone remembers who he was, now.

Personally, I haven't seen enough yet, but I am a fairly unpleasant person.  I have to see how bad it all gets, and maybe you were right when you said "blah blah gaze upon monsters blah blah become a monster" (or words to that effect).  I have a high pain threshhold, and I can smile through the agony, but I keep forgetting that not everyone is wired that way.  Some people like their weirdness light-hearted, and some like it as an occasional thing, and I feel really bad about encouraging people to go too far out of their comfort zone, into the weird and depraved places where the freaks will get you if the pressure doesn't.

I said there was some neat shit down here, but I forgot to mention that crush depths may vary by person.

[Dysfunctional Cunt]

It really wasn't that bad, you know, the first few miles.  It deceives you into thinking you're on the scenic route.  It's when it gets dark that the scenery becomes the stuff of your night terrors.  

I've driven past the remains of so many I knew.  I really want to stop.  My heart tells me to stop, but my brain currently has full control and there is no stopping when it is in charge.  So I keep driving.  Every once in a while you'll see a family pulled over at one of the "picnic areas".  You almost think they really are sitting there enjoying their fried chicken and potato salad.  But if you slow down you'll see the maggots working their way out of their eyes.

My biggest thing is the people who are coming towards me.  Their cars look like they've driven through a blow 'em up scene from Terminator.  Their faces, locked in absolute terror, they don't scare me as much as they fascinate me.  What made them go down this highway, what did they see, who were they chasing?  They don't look left or right, just straight ahead, always staring.  Where do they come from Roger?  Did they turn around somewhere midpoint?  

Don't they understand that once they start down this highway, there is really no going back?  And even if they could, would they want to?

[Dysfunctional Cunt]

Crap I posted before you finished, sorry Roger.... 

[Cain]

Personally, I think I'm doing fine.  I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.

This too shall pass.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

It really wasn't that bad, you know, the first few miles.  It deceives you into thinking you're on the scenic route.  It's when it gets dark that the scenery becomes the stuff of your night terrors.  

I've driven past the remains of so many I knew.  I really want to stop.  My heart tells me to stop, but my brain currently has full control and there is no stopping when it is in charge.  So I keep driving.  Every once in a while you'll see a family pulled over at one of the "picnic areas".  You almost think they really are sitting there enjoying their fried chicken and potato salad.  But if you slow down you'll see the maggots working their way out of their eyes.

My biggest thing is the people who are coming towards me.  Their cars look like they've driven through a blow 'em up scene from Terminator.  Their faces, locked in absolute terror, they don't scare me as much as they fascinate me.  What made them go down this highway, what did they see, who were they chasing?  They don't look left or right, just straight ahead, always staring.  Where do they come from Roger?  Did they turn around somewhere midpoint?  

Don't they understand that once they start down this highway, there is really no going back?  And even if they could, would they want to?

The people you saw "picnicing" were those who thought this was a novelty.

The ones in the oncoming lane are the ones who were smart enough to ignore the "Emergency Vehicles Only" signs (the ones peppered by the most buckshot), and turned around.  Curly didn't turn around, and look what happened to him.  

And me?  I can't remember what the regular highway looks like.  I can't stay with anyone for more than a few months before they freak out, I can't be trusted at parties, and I laugh too much at things that aren't really all that funny.  911?  Ha ha!  Auschwitz?  Ho ho!  Worldwide desertification?  HAHAHAHA stop it, you're killing me!.

Vroom vroom!

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Personally, I think I'm doing fine.  I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.

This too shall pass.

Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?

Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company.  Choose.

[Bebek Sincap Ratatosk]

Personally, I think I'm doing fine.  I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.

This too shall pass.

Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?

Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company.  Choose.

The capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company vs the capacity to function around other primates and NOT enjoy their company vs  the inability to function around other primates without resorting to flinging shit at them. I don't think Truth enters into it.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Personally, I think I'm doing fine.  I can see other people getting a little frentic or frayed at the edges, but hey, I've been there before, I don't feel it would be right to jump in and point that out.

This too shall pass.

Same here, Cain, but has it occurred to you that this isn't necessarily a ringing endorsement of our mental state?

Truth vs the capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company.  Choose.

The capacity to function around other primates and enjoy their company vs the capacity to function around other primates and NOT enjoy their company vs  the inability to function around other primates without resorting to flinging shit at them. I don't think Truth enters into it.

Of course it does.  If you are willing to accept a few social fictions, you are much more likely to wind up surrounded by primates that want to be around you, and less likely to wind up bitter and lonely in your old age (or not so old age).

Hemmingway saw that choice, and opted out entirely.

[Dysfunctional Cunt]

It really wasn't that bad, you know, the first few miles.  It deceives you into thinking you're on the scenic route.  It's when it gets dark that the scenery becomes the stuff of your night terrors.  

I've driven past the remains of so many I knew.  I really want to stop.  My heart tells me to stop, but my brain currently has full control and there is no stopping when it is in charge.  So I keep driving.  Every once in a while you'll see a family pulled over at one of the "picnic areas".  You almost think they really are sitting there enjoying their fried chicken and potato salad.  But if you slow down you'll see the maggots working their way out of their eyes.

My biggest thing is the people who are coming towards me.  Their cars look like they've driven through a blow 'em up scene from Terminator.  Their faces, locked in absolute terror, they don't scare me as much as they fascinate me.  What made them go down this highway, what did they see, who were they chasing?  They don't look left or right, just straight ahead, always staring.  Where do they come from Roger?  Did they turn around somewhere midpoint?  

Don't they understand that once they start down this highway, there is really no going back?  And even if they could, would they want to?

The people you saw "picnicing" were those who thought this was a novelty.

The ones in the oncoming lane are the ones who were smart enough to ignore the "Emergency Vehicles Only" signs (the ones peppered by the most buckshot), and turned around.  Curly didn't turn around, and look what happened to him.  

And me?  I can't remember what the regular highway looks like.  I can't stay with anyone for more than a few months before they freak out, I can't be trusted at parties, and I laugh too much at things that aren't really all that funny.  911?  Ha ha!  Auschwitz?  Ho ho!  Worldwide desertification?  HAHAHAHA stop it, you're killing me!.

Vroom vroom!

Do you regret taking that entrance ramp?  I mean do you really?  I don't anymore.  I would rather travel this highway than the one they painted all the unicorns and fairies over the graffiti.  You know which one I'm talking about.  The air even smells like cotton candy the whole thing is so sickly sweet and cloying it gags you and forces you to keep the windows tightly rolled up.

I think I'm better off alone in reality than with someone in their fantasy.  Because I'll fuck up their fantasy sure as shit.  As for the tragedy being my amusement, that was there all along, I was just ashamed to admit it until recently.  So if I'm broken, I don't know that I want to be fixed.

[Captain Utopia]

I keep looking for the highway, but I can't get off this damn ring-road. The only thing I can see out of the window are the blur of the signs which I'm sure I would find significant if I wasn't always going just a little shade too fast to read, as I spot them too late. Then just as I think it'll never end, I find myself right back where I started.

Meh.

Maybe I should just stop looking and just get out for a bit to stretch my legs.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

It really wasn't that bad, you know, the first few miles.  It deceives you into thinking you're on the scenic route.  It's when it gets dark that the scenery becomes the stuff of your night terrors.  

I've driven past the remains of so many I knew.  I really want to stop.  My heart tells me to stop, but my brain currently has full control and there is no stopping when it is in charge.  So I keep driving.  Every once in a while you'll see a family pulled over at one of the "picnic areas".  You almost think they really are sitting there enjoying their fried chicken and potato salad.  But if you slow down you'll see the maggots working their way out of their eyes.

My biggest thing is the people who are coming towards me.  Their cars look like they've driven through a blow 'em up scene from Terminator.  Their faces, locked in absolute terror, they don't scare me as much as they fascinate me.  What made them go down this highway, what did they see, who were they chasing?  They don't look left or right, just straight ahead, always staring.  Where do they come from Roger?  Did they turn around somewhere midpoint?  

Don't they understand that once they start down this highway, there is really no going back?  And even if they could, would they want to?

The people you saw "picnicing" were those who thought this was a novelty.

The ones in the oncoming lane are the ones who were smart enough to ignore the "Emergency Vehicles Only" signs (the ones peppered by the most buckshot), and turned around.  Curly didn't turn around, and look what happened to him.  

And me?  I can't remember what the regular highway looks like.  I can't stay with anyone for more than a few months before they freak out, I can't be trusted at parties, and I laugh too much at things that aren't really all that funny.  911?  Ha ha!  Auschwitz?  Ho ho!  Worldwide desertification?  HAHAHAHA stop it, you're killing me!.

Vroom vroom!

Do you regret taking that entrance ramp?  I mean do you really?  I don't anymore.  I would rather travel this highway than the one they painted all the unicorns and fairies over the graffiti.  You know which one I'm talking about.  The air even smells like cotton candy the whole thing is so sickly sweet and cloying it gags you and forces you to keep the windows tightly rolled up.

I think I'm better off alone in reality than with someone in their fantasy.  Because I'll fuck up their fantasy sure as shit.  As for the tragedy being my amusement, that was there all along, I was just ashamed to admit it until recently.  So if I'm broken, I don't know that I want to be fixed.

Likewise, but not everyone is a misanthrope.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I keep looking for the highway, but I can't get off this damn ring-road. The only thing I can see out of the window are the blur of the signs which I'm sure I would find significant if I wasn't always going just a little shade too fast to read, as I spot them too late. Then just as I think it'll never end, I find myself right back where I started.

Meh.

Maybe I should just stop looking and just get out for a bit to stretch my legs.

Yeah.  And maybe you should forget the highway for a while and raise your kid.  Like I said, this is no place to go driving with the family...Kids can use the comforting half-truths for a while.  They'll learn the horrible facts soon enough, and there's no harm in letting them be children for a while.