Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 15, 2010, 03:54:30 PMQuote from: Risus on November 15, 2010, 03:52:04 PM
Just wanted to jump in and agree that this is some powerful stuff, Rev, the kind that reeks of divine madness and crazy wisdom that you seem only too steeped in.
We're all Holy Men™, Risus. Most people just haven't learned to listen to that horrible shitty part of your brain that says this awful shit, that says "Here's how people are, how do we deal with that?, while the good neighborhoods of your brain are saying "Here's how people ought to be, how do we change them?"
It's like that light that creeps into your room at night through the blinds. Try all you want, you've got that glare in your eyes. You can cover your head, but you can't block it out and you've got that knot in your gut -- you're not going to get to sleep, even though you know you should. You're going to have to get up, cross your room to the window and tear it open, to bare yourself, just close enough to feel the cold off the window and fog up the glass.
You've felt this high before. You can see everything around for miles, feel every foot step across the floor, every vibration through the walls. You don't know if you're the biggest you've ever been, dense and connected like a cluster of nerves, or if you've been spread thin like a balloon, prone to rupture and tear yourself apart from the pressure inside... You might have felt it once, like another part of you was trying to drag yourself out of the back of your own head, pull yourself away, compose yourself; you try to get a grip but only rake back handfuls of sand that pours out faster through your fingers the tighter you make that fist. An engine revving down a side street brings you back. You shiver and clear your throat, blinking to recognize your own room in the dark.
You've got a fever's warmth and though you breathe deep you're short on breath. You've pace your room for a moment, restless because you feel like you've forgotten something somewhere, it's on the tip of your tongue. Eventually the beating in your chest dies down and you try to collect your thoughts. You feel heavy and languid all of a sudden. Maybe you should lie down after all, try to get some sleep. Maybe you'll remember what it was in the morning.
It's not always the same, and you won't always see it coming.
Sometimes it's in the back of your mind, like a wildfire on the news somewhere you've never heard of. Other times it's like a jolt up the arm from a stray wire, itching and burning across your side that makes you grit your teeth. What are you going to do, Rev? I just try to ride the wave because it's those moments, Rev, those moments that make my eyes go wide and my knuckles white.
Risus
Laughing Prophet of the New Weird
