Charles Pendelton
      © 2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 31

                   The shattered mind

We went from the antechamber in the basement to the kitchen area where we
stood near the kitchenette. As much as I wanted to sit down, I was terrified to
because of the lurid object above my head. Rich appeared to be attentive and
alert, but still there was something bugging him. He would begin to scratch his
arm and then stare at it blindly before falling into fits of unstoppable laughter.
He then began to blurt out words at random, and I wondered what my parents
would have thought of such irrational behavior. The walls of his padded cell
were being fastened together as his little mind slowly became unhinged.

Indeed, I had truly misjudged the effects of the drug, and the emotional
state of the user was something I hadn't even factored into the equation.

Had Peter been found, before the wheels were set in motion,
the whole
Huguenot endevor would certainly have never transpired. And God only
knows what would have been written in its place, if anything at all.

There was a wicked spirit around the kitchen sink that had somehow managed to absorb
itself within the intricate fabric of the argent metal. The two faucets now seemed to be
empowered with a form of kinetic energy I had not witnessed before. There were unusually
small bursting patterns within the alloy composite, to which I could not define logically, and
it appeared as though they were trying earnestly to make my eyes sparkle! Considering
that my pupils were dilating, (under the spell of this fantastic magic) I didn’t want it to go
any further. Had they dilated entirely, that would have probably caused the reality I currently
knew and understood to disappear entirely, leaving me in a fictitious cartoon like world
of suspended animation. . . A void which I would never be able to fathom, nor exit.

As I watched them gyrate and spin, I found myself falling into a mild trance. Such vivid
color in yet so little space! To follow the contrast of kaleidoscopic hues inside a door that
turns round and round without ever opening is like spinning a coin on a table, only to
find it can never stop! You enter, but it never opens; you leave, but you were never there!

Then like an exploding daydream, I was awakened from my trance.

The long slender arm-like mouth of the high arc spout was attempting to reach me,
while at the same time, that insane laughter behind me was beginning to abrade my
senses. Since I was busy analyzing and examining things, I couldn't be there for him.
I presume this is why he withdrew into his own little world. Within that plastic bubble
in the realm of his own containment he began throwing his lips out. This action made
very strange popping noise! Every time he did it, he would convulse in laughter.

I wanted to tell him to be quiet, but that would only have
made him sad. I would not let anything in the universe
be sad, because that is a reflection on your soul. You
get too many of them and God puts you on fire.

As I focused my attention on the ethereal movement of the divine faucet, I began
to think frightening loud! “The aliens have metallic compounds very similar to this!
I believe they left some of it in Roswell!” I'm pretty sure if the central intelligence
agency were to barge in here right now, and see exactly what it is that I am seeing,
there is no doubt in my mind, that I would be taken somewhere far away and killed.

As the magical faucet (with an atomic structure of infinite proportions) extended
itself outwards toward me, I was pretty sure it wanted me to pet it, or at least touch
it to make some kind of human contact. Of course, I couldn't risk any transference,
so I respectfully declined by carefully showing it my two hands, before rubbing
them together in an accelerated motion.
. . Why I did this, I will never know!

You know all that, “We come in peace” stuff was floating around in my
head, and in that plain of time, everything revolved around perception.

                                                                               Pg 152

Why I refused to touch it however was simple. If you take that mercurial silver. . . That
Non-Newtonian ferrofluid and you initiate contact, there is a very good chance some of
it is going to stick around. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if any trace elements
got on me, it would either leave patches of invisibility, or it would be absorbed through
my skin and I would begin to suffer the effects of toxic shock. I was already invisible in
life, I didn't need to be anymore transparent, and I certainly didn't want to go into shock
from an illusion. Suddenly, the sparkling faucet began to lose its shimmer and was no
longer appealing to my senses. Then it drooped, as if it were going to rest its slender
neck at the rim one of the small frying pans filled with water and begin drinking. 

No, that wasn't it; I had made it sad.
I had destroyed something beautiful by being overly
I was not playing by the rules of the game. Almost immediately, did I feel a rush of
emotion flowing upward from within my eyes and it burned like fire. Throwing my hands on
my face, I must have looked like the boy who had just witnessed both parents being executed.

Watching me with an intuitive stare, that lifelike mechanical dummy screamed
out a laugh so horrifyingly loud, I spun around full circle hitting the stove!

In his achromatic world of redundancies,
there lies a harsh truth just waiting to be discovered.

As I looked at my friend in shock, the elusive stained glass lighting fixture was
within inches from my face! Before it could snap shut like a venus fly trap, I dropped
to the floor and scrambled into the living room! Wow, I thought, how can I get back
in the kitchen? In anger, I began to wonder why he screamed like he had just gotten
fucked in prison. His actions made no sense at all. He's disrupting the balance of
time, I screamed into the gray region of all abandoned thoughts, before composing
myself. The only way to enter the kitchen was to crawl like a toddler, and I had no
intention of doing that! Aside from the onerous task of having to quiet that screaming
head, I first had to figure out how to get back into the kitchen area without being
compromised! Just then it began to dawn on me. . . He's the head of Candor!!!

                                             That madman almost sent me to Hell!

Standing beside the bookcase, and the oversized rectangular table used only for special
occasions, I began to contemplate. Staring straight ahead I noticed the radio. Carefully,
I turned the brown plastic knob on the living room stereo system and it turned on.
The in-wall speakers produced a dazzling clarity, which truly illuminated my mind!

Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kid.
In fact it's cold as hell.
And there's no one there to raise them if you did.

And in all this science I don't understand
It's just my job five days a week. . .

The song playing on the radio was one I never particularly cared a whole lot for;
but hearing it now, with the cosmos expanding before my very eyes, it became
so magical I couldn't stop listening! When it ended, I turned off the radio. . .
I would now have to buy this record, I thought; if only for this one song.

It was now back to the old drawing board,
as I casually ran through a scenario of plans.

                                                                      The Paupers - Magic people

After analyzing the situation, I came to the conclusion that 'Plan B' was my only alternative.
I crawled into the kitchen on all fours, and the venomous light simply could not reach me!

                                                   Now the thing was furious!

As the unhingement of time seemed to accelerate the process of all living things, I kind of felt like
I was in-between worlds. Watching myself crawling around on the floor like a child did not make
me feel like a fool, because my thoughts were elsewhere. I was challenged by the notion of all I
had created,
and was disassembling theories which could in turn link "everything I was" to an
undetected vantage point in time. A mysterious phantom was taking notes from the furthest corner
of a black hole that had propelled itself into my thoughts. It was moving at light speed towards my
eyes as they raced to see the cosmic galaxy from afar. The burning brilliant glow from the flowery
lamp that swayed awkwardly in the kitchen held the answer to the enormous puzzle known as life.

Past, present, and future were about to collide in an astonishing display, one could never hope
to fathom. Where the hapless sorrows of bitter wreaths are hung, on timeworn doorsteps which
have been steeped in the anguish of human suffering. Malfeasant laws contrary to either world
shall be disregarded when the partition binding the seasons of time find themselves bare. An
entire generation of humble hosts shall soon be coated in radiant love, for the babes that awaken
tomorrow shall be pardoned of the sins I bore today. I dwelt on the vague thought for a moment.

I then smiled wryly, because I knew it was all a game;
an insightful game that in return ends up playing you!

As I entered the bathroom, I flicked the switch and that brown room came alive! All those weird
tiles with several strange looming flowers were moving themselves about to form such irregular
patterns. Just then, I pressed one of the mahjong tiles and it clicked. A very minimal click, but
a click nonetheless! Sensing a gate was going to come crashing down from above and trap me,
I bolted from the bathroom leaving the light on, and never looked back! Like Maxwell Smart
looking for agent 99 in a lunatic asylum, I politely asked my friend, who was now the patient,
if he could please shut the light off. He in return, would spit a lung full of laughter in my face.

Apparently, the British accent must have tickled his funny bone, because the light was never
turned off. If you should go past that house in the evening hours, you may find it's still on!

Sliding open the glass door, I crept out and proceeded to take a long piss. Hearing an unusual
movement by the back fence, I ran in without zipping! I then saw something peering in at me from
the darkness. It was a massive spider! Holy shit, this thing was huge!!! From afar, I would say it
had to be the height of an over-sized milk crate, or a medium-sized dog! Zipping my fly, I found
the inner conflict between myself and my senses beginning.

“What the hell is that?!”
“It's not real, man.”
“I know it's not real, but what is it?!”
“It's an illusion, you know this.”
“I know it's a fucking illusion, but if it gets into the house and corners me,

then I'll know what it's like. . . To be the girl with a centipede in her twat!”

If I had to boil it all down, it would equate to something as simple as this. My psyche bore witness
to the grand illusion, and the door that held man's greatest fear was suddenly unbolted! Solely, the
inner aspect of fear
had been affected, nothing more. Those thoughts which present themselves
from an incident, or an instance of unpleasantry become more powerful than marching soldiers.
That pure unbridled terror of horrific circumstance soon to
occur could indeed paralyze the mind!

They were not crawling on me, but I could surmise they were coming!

                                                                               Pg 153

Little ones - Big ones - Ghastly ones!!!
I have to close all the vents and windows now!!!
I can't go through the kitchen!!!
The dining room window is directly facing the spider!!!

Worse comes to worse, I'll lock myself in the bathroom and wait until it eats
through the wall to get me. I know this isn't real. The only thing real about it
is how one's fear can empower the imagination! If not for a mind-bending
drug, then would I honestly believe in any of this science fiction nonsense?

As I peered through the window, looking terrified, I connected with the object in the yard.
It was the
old rundlet cask my father removed from the basement last month! That dull
gleam was simply the lights reflected from the park hitting the old barrel. The metal hoops
encircling the barrel were merely holding the wooden staves in place! It was not the body
of a ferocious spider eying me down! How foolish was I to even think along those lines!

I solved the problem and the spiders were gone! If I tried, I probably couldn't make them return.
The mind can only be put at ease when a
problem is solved or a solution is found to bring closure.
When all logic fails, problems will manifest a growing despair. In other words, you're doomed.

*I was now entering a state of total peace*

However, I still had to be extremely careful around that light fixture hanging above the
kitchen table! The one crafted from stained glass and lead, then wrought into the shape
of a flower. There was a certain flux within it that made me feel as though it were mocking
me to some degree. Also, there seemed to be a wavering effect in the light, very similar
to a bending mirror at a sideshow. . . When you stand next to it, it distorts your size.

"How clever the mind in its affinity toward ever knowing
the requisite capacity to assimilate lies unresolved."

There was now a hideous distortion in the way that it was bending. I could follow a current
of energy flowing through its veiny petals, as if two big magnets were using their polarity
to stretch its sides, or it was trying to open; this I could not surmise. But it had a sinister
motive and truly appeared to be sneering at me, as if ridiculing me for something I had done
to it in the past. It was my father who almost broke the 'round yellow glass body' when he
was unscrewing it last month to change the light bulb and clean the large cylindrical globe!

I should not be held accountable for his error in judgement!!! I told it I was sorry
in an overly sympathetic voice and then paused to reflect in silence, fist to mouth.
Imagine that; I had apologized to this inanimate object. This perennial nightmare
swaying gently before me in my warped perception, when in fact, I had done no wrong!

Indeed, I fell for the greatest hoax of all time!!!

The fact that I was deathly afraid of it striking me, could in no way be abolished.
My sole concern was that if it did, would I be able to stave off the infection before
my brain sends it coursing throughout my entire system, contaminating everything
in its immediate path. I did not wish for this to end in an all out war! Ask yourself
this; is there anything worse in this life than being attacked or surrounded by the
one thing you are most terrified of?
Spiders, rats, cockroaches or a centipedes?

Have you any idea, how traumatic or damaging that can be to your psyche?
If you did, you would understand why I refused to stand near that table!

I have read in numerous journals that the omnipresent danger of psychedelic drugs
and the risks associated with each use increases dramatically with every increment.
Meaning that people have been left in vegetative states, have committed suicide,
or have caused harm to themselves or others from far less than the current dosage
we ingested only hours earlier! And with the amount of weed I smoked in the bong,
I just upped the dosage to four. The way I looked at it was simple, and that was,
if we can control our minds, we can control our lives. I need no assistance here.

Life in itself was quotidian marked by mundane functions of mind and body performing a task
or enjoying a luxury. We go to work. We come home. We drive to the store to buy new things;
we are happy. Why does everything always have to be drown in normalcy? Why can't we have
a day of being? To see within ourselves for who we really are? To gaze into the illusion of thought,
without being persecuted for it? From time to time, I find this is necessary, but is it really so wrong?
I'm not going to destroy my life by going crazy, because I know what I'm doing here! Considering
all the hostility forming in the electric flower, every step was met with apprehension and fear.

Maybe, I thought to myself, just maybe, I am beginning to learn that now.

                                                                               Pg 154

A mellifluous voice within my mind gave me the rundown on life.

Everything's right and everything's wrong,
when everyone is right and everyone is wrong.

Time was now at an ebb and flow, and I was somewhere in the middle of it.
Memories that were mine and memories that weren't flooded my senses and
made me hold my head in a half smile. I was baffled and awe struck,
and wasn't quite sure if I should sit down or begin doing an Irish jig!

Just then the light turned itself toward me, and I backed up
like I was moving away from the snake charmer's basket! 

God knows, I wasn't getting any closer to it.

Like Belladonna, that deadly nightshade had already begun to poison the air.
quickly it burgeoned from a harmless artifact into a total mind threat!

Overshadowing the landscape with its flower petal turned wasp-like wings humming
to the tune almost effortlessly, covering my cerebral cortex with a gentle layer of film.
It infused me with terror, and instilled in my heart, a grim desire to abolish it. Indeed,
the one with no authority, certainly seemed to produce the most of it! My thoughts
were broken by a hideous laugh. In a spectral light that houses the dormitory of the
something wicked had begun to grow in its pastures. Where the well seasoned
seer, most proficient in his trade uncloaks the nursling from under his wing only to
find he has made a serious miscalculation. . .

                       The child's brain had already begun to decompose.

Anyone who chooses to tinker with the internal workings of the human mind, will one
day come to realize that the journey he or she has endured was of absolutely no gain.

The lighted flower was acting very unpredictable now, and it was just a matter of time
before it lashed out to strike. Being as how it wasn't swaying more than a foot in any
given direction from where it hung, I decided to give it an extra two feet, just to be safe.
Hopefully, it wouldn't snap the chain! I really didn't think it would, since its pattern
of behavior hasn't changed, and it was moving ever so eerily in slow motion. Had
we taken four hits each, I am sure my head would be halfway down its fiery throat by
now, and my brain, equidistant to the edges of a searing hot frying pan! On five, he
would have
snapped the chain for sure, and ultimately devoured the entire dwelling!

I thought of the moon flowers and how they bloom only at night,
but this son of a bitch runs on electricity! I can't be nice to it
and give it some water or I'll start a God-damn house fire!!!

Indeed, the game had taken a sudden turn for the worst, and all
the innocent, playful banter the world had bestowed upon me
hours earlier, had all but been reduced to an incurable disease.

Rich was still acting weird, muttering indistinguishable words and laughing hysterically.
This had been going on since the time of my aunt's departure and that was six hours ago.
He spoke of Poly-goff-i-cits who lived in a world of En-terr-um, and all the rest was babble.
What's going on in his mind? That's hard to figure out when a person is not communicating
with you. He's laughing at his life from Funhouse Land without a care in the world, while I
have to analyze and attempt to remedy this whole foolish mess. It didn't seem fair in a way.
Whatever was going on inside him, however, was doing more than I could have imagined.

                                                                The Hollies - Stop right there

I turned off the kitchen light and the evil rose grew tranquil. Keep in mind that the off
switch acted
only as a mild sedative. Its defense mechanism was still on, for I could
hear it hissing audibly! A warning that I would be very wise to
keep my distance.

Cordially, I summoned my friend into the barrel room. No, this was not a distilling room,
but rather, a small living room shaped like a barrel. The light-colored oak flooring strips
with darkened auburn circles, when fitted together formed a very unique half oval ceiling!
At first glance, one would attest that it was "congenial to the eye" whether they were high
or not, and I marveled at it, as if it were the first time I had seen it. Turning the knob on
the television set, we came upon the Joe Franklin show. Since neither of us understood
a word he said, we sat there emotionless, and watched that magic glass produce life.

While I pretended to wonder why a world full of people would choose to live inside it,
I also wondered what would happen if they suddenly decided to step outside the box.
To see these colorful one-dimensional celluloid characters coming to life in the barrel
room would be more than my fragile mind could handle, and I'm more than sure that
would have given my friend, but another reason to laugh his damn fool head off!

                                                                               Pg 155

What I really liked about Joe was that he always seemed happy. Most of the time he
just sat there in a comical light, reaching for words that should already be there. Like
a stand up comic desperately trying to act the part of a talk show host. As I watched
him on that bromidic television set encased in its sturdy wooden console, I wondered
just how many of these unusual TV's would still be in use a hundred years from now.

I noticed that Joe seemed to be stopping more frequently, before rushing to get the words
out. Maybe that apprehension was a defect in his character, but I considered it to be a part
of his own uniqueness. While his facial gestures and hesitant motor skills began to make
me laugh, I could not stop thinking of someone I once loved dearly. A woman who meant
more to me than any of my parents or family members combined. Someone who took my
entire world with her when she left. The only person I cannot bring myself to speak of.

The Forbidden Lifestyle of the Unconventional Poet has a damaged
spine and many
pages missing, but the book still reads the same.

To my left was a family portrait beside the television next to an open bookcase
crafted of walnut. Individual pictures of my three siblings stood in separate frames.
My dad and stepmom holding a flag atop Mount Washington rested in another.
While an old monochrome photographic image of my grandparents in a country
setting was still in its original silver frame. That picture was taken by a neighbor,
before my parents were born. Pieces of a family tree that only I could keep alive by
having children, because my dad had three girls, my uncle Bob had three girls, and
my aunt Gloria, who teaches stenography in California, never wanted any children.

Everyone was there except me.
I'm never around; why do I even exist?

Sometimes, I feel more like a ghost than I do a
human being. Existing on an entirely different
plain from them, as a solitary creature of habit.

I have no earthly business being here anymore.
To cast myself into the abandonment of all time
and space with hopes of finding what?

To live apart from my beloved is my torment;

my hell on earth. My absolute despair.

When at last, I close my eyes for the final time, will I hear
the heavenly trumpet,
calling me to glory after I've slept
more than a billion years in less than a fetid breath?

Or will I be led into the fire of my own damnation?

As I watched this man inside the box of glass speak, everything inside my head
just evaporated. Was I losing interest, or was it suddenly the time that had begun
to drain me? Too many thoughts were now creating a form of anxiety within me.
Good old Joe was living his life through others, while I was just sitting there like
a vacant shell. When Joe Franklin bid us farewell, I turned off the television set.

Once again, I and my friend ascended the staircase to the second floor. Rich was
still laughing hysterically as the high grew stronger still. Entering my room, I wasn't
sure what to make of it now. It was becoming drawn out, and I was beginning to
feel peevish, to say the least. I looked up at the skylight and saw the turning point
of a nightmare as it came to life. Similar to the blades of a helicopter as seen through
a kaleidoscopic lens; it swiveled in a continual motion on an invisible axis lifting
itself out of the plate which had held it in place for so many years. It then returned
to its original position and repeated the same action until I could watch no more.

That's it, I thought. The point where everything comes apart and there's no fixing a
shattered mind. It's going to get bad, and I'm really trying to prepare myself for the
worst that could possibly happen, because it just might. It should have been starting
to wear off by now, but it just keeps building in strength! It hasn't reached its peak
yet!!! All this research and writing, balderdash! My reward for it all was going to
irrevocable lunacy. Slowly, I am going out of my mind. The evening was growing,
because I was watching it grow. It was more realistic than a television program,
because it was alive and unscripted.
Very similar to the way the passing of time
abandons a deranged child in it's own unkempt seclusion, I myself was being taken
somewhere I did not want to go, and I was beyond terrified. Shock was setting in.

                  There was no time for forgiveness. . . I already pulled the trigger.

                                           Why is it every time I win, I lose?

I shuddered like a virgin on a prom date to think that in but a few short moments from now,
   the chemical element that I held in such high esteem, would soon have
its way with me.

I didn't know if every insect in creation was going to come crawling into the room and
cover me, or if my heart would suddenly stop from the stress of what was about to come!

    Either way you choose to look at it, there was nothing I could do or say that would have it
release me
from its evil grasp. It would simply have to run its course, and I was too tired to fight.

I am starting to fall, yet I haven't moved, like a swamp reed blowing gently in the summer wind.
Until the day of the Lord's judgment shall I ever ponder my own undoing. On the eve of this
starry night, I led a lamb to its slaughter. I took an innocent being and I cast him like a sheet to
the wind, which in turn dissolved his brain and gelified my soul. I can almost begin to feel things
on my skin crawling. Whether real or not, it will have no effect on the outcome of this fiasco.

                                             Surely, I have rolled the dice and lost.

The sensation which has caused my blood to slither, is just another obstacle thrown under my feet.
What I do know is something terrible will soon occur, and I am going to the darkest part of Hell.

                                                                               Pg 156

What happens when the ceiling flies away?
Will I still hear strange
laughter through the darkness, or will the darkness be my only light?

It would be different if Harmony were here with me now. She could turn a criminally
insane nightmare into an unforgettable night of insatiable glory with a mere wave of her
gentle hand. Without her by my side, I was in permanent danger of getting lost in the
stream of time. Like a timorous man, I sat on my bed and began to dissolve into it as my
mind tried earnestly to unwind. All the while listening to the rantings of a friend gone mad.

Right there and then it occurred to me that we are only born to die. There is nothing
we can do about it, the inevitable is sure to come. Yet, what about the ravages of time?
The curse of growing older and gradually losing your independence, until you're
nothing more than a malfunctioning machine that eventually stops. A babbling old
man with the intelligence of a flagpole. One that holds no flag, and is situated in the
middle of an isolated forest. Those days which seem to be light years away are right
around the corner, and will be here before any of us ever come to realize it. Why is
it that no one even pauses to give it a second thought. I guess maybe we shouldn't.

Once again, I would find I created something I could not control. Not only did

I have to keep myself together, but I had to make sure nothing bad happened
to Richie. Trying to be a guide and a tourist at the same time was like trying
to plant
seeds in stone. Not only was it beyond my capacity, but it was futile.

    It seemed I was living only to destroy myself, and this time I had
pulled someone else into the ever rising sludge of my failed existence.

I cannot function like this. If I do not return to normal, I cannot go to work like this.
I cannot do anything like this, and I have a strong feeling that my life is going to be very
much like this forever. Some things in this life are worse than even death itself, where
I may be tortured for all eternity. Simply because I chose the path of least resistance

In time perhaps, new adjustments could be made to my cerebellum, where I may function
as to hold a glass of water. Whether or not I will know what water is or why I must drink
it to sustain my own body, this I contemplate trembling. I began to hear a song in my head,
and so I jotted it down on scrap paper. I never gave it a title, and I never spoke of it again.

Spiders come crawling out of crevice electric.
Day turns night for awhile.
Where do you go when you lose your soul?
When your blood runs cold
inside your veins of darkened steel?
Reflected from the path you yielded by day.

It's not easy;
living a brand new life.
It's not easy,
when you hear strange voices at night
that seem to come from out of the closet
and carry a knife.    

You're alone here, you're the patient.
There's no one there it's only you.
And though you played the game,
you were bound to lose. . .
Am I to die in this padded room?

The clown in the corner sat laughing, and I thought of what I had done. Knowingly,
I lured him into madness through suggestion. . . Why would I do such an evil thing?
Not yet had he even loved, nor begun to live for that matter, and I sealed his fate with
one deceitful gesture. Who am I kidding? There is still time for Richie to find someone
who can relate to him! If I can come back to earth, then I'm sure he'll come back too!

                                                             The Move - Cherry Blossom Clinic      

Afterwards, when everything had returned to normal again, I found my friend
still laughing and drooling. Trying to hold a conversation with him now was
impossible. Sure he could travel alone on public transportation, or drag his feet
to the store to buy smokes and various sundries, but he would no longer be
able to hold a job. Just smoke, laugh, drool and talk to himself rather openly.
My friend lives in a home now. A home for mentally challenged people and
that is something I will have to carry around with me for the rest of my life. 

Just to know that I destroyed another human being.
A friend who trusted me, I betrayed. Don't feel bad?

How the hell am I supposed to feel?

                                                                               Pg 157

It is a terrible but true fact that the people who were once cool will become old, and everything
that was once considered to be the rave will no longer be in fashion, leaving us to become
obsolete as our parents and grandparents have already experienced. Yes, we shall be replaced by
a new generation of people who have absolutely no knowledge of what anything is about, and the
music that was once so hip, shall become irrelevant. Even so, as we enter the stream of middle life,
rebel youth which has taken us part of the way, shall fall from us like withered branches. When the
only thing we are able to focus upon is self-preservation, we know the end is not far away.

At this very point in time, I can almost feel time itself moving, and in a profoundly morose kind
of way, I have somehow fallen under the illusion of being covered in ancient thinning cobwebs.
As it appears, if I were to stand now, my legs would most certainly crumble inside their dusty
shells, straight down to the pants cuff. Time is attempting to show me that I have become a relic.
Whether or not there were spiders crawling around in my frail, hollowed out bones was not even
relevant to me at this point. I knew the grand illusion was nothing more than a great scheme
devised by my own hand to concoct a historic night that would be so memorable, it would
able to stand up to any event that could ever be remembered in our nations history. . .
I tried
to produce a monumental evening that would have been stamped in the footprint of time,
and instead, I produced two misfits that will not have the intelligence of a single shoelace.

    A shadow of doubt would reflect through the opening of time, my inner consciousness,
personifying the young man who tried to build a world out of despair and found only ruins.

Something flies into my mouth and is now buzzing around from cheek to cheek. Opening my
mouth, a fly is released who begins to encircle the room. He buzzes around before landing on
a tree in the small village upon my wall. Following his own senses, he flies into the bell tower
of the church over by the clearing and becomes lost in a dream of his own misdoing. But it
seems I have something more important to concern myself with at the present time. Trying to
remain sane was only part of the equation, for the whole house was becoming deranged!

The Village East - Building with a steeple

As I gazed at the walls surrounding my room, they seemed to be breathing in and out slowly.
I then placed my hands upon the breadth of its median as the town scattered, thus allowing
me to feel the contractions of life within its very core. The movements within the wall felt like
a rather odd combination of both water pressure and that of compressed air traveling about.

                        If I become one with the universe, will I become the illusion?

I ran my hand up and down its fleshy walls while it breathed in gently and calmly wondered to
myself, if I poked it would it bleed? Could it feel pain? If we see something in pain, is it not in
pain, because that is what the mind perceives? I then wondered, who would wish to do harm like
this in the first place? To enjoy making it suffer would be no different now, than to torture an
innocent puppy or helpless child. Nothing should be wrought to suffer! No animal, no insect, no
object and certainly not another human being! Something which exists only to live should not be
harmed. It should be allowed to live without any human intervention! Even if it isn't really real. . .

                                                            *Am I very wrong?*

But still that thought has me baffled! Let's just say out of pure speculation, I were to put a nail 
in the wall to
hang a picture. Now the wall begins to bleed and cannot stop, what shall I do?

I may be forced to leave the
house. I did not want to leave this house!!! Neither did
I wish to have an internecine power struggle to deal with.
More than anything else,
I did not wish to disrupt the fabric of my environment which I was presently enjoying.

Instead, I will watch it grow, the same way one would take pleasure
in observing their own children in their developing stages of life.

When something is beneath your feet, isn't it better to step over it than upon it? Even though
it takes a greater effort? All things that live must have some significance in this world, or they
would not be in the first place. Of course, this excludes brain eating amoeba, flesh eating
bacteria, and every other microscopic foe which takes form in a human host to cause illness!

       Yes, I thought aloud, this is the answer to God's love!
It has to be, I said with fists clenched and pupils fully dilated!

                                       This made the clown laugh harder still

Once again, he falls to his back like a sack of potatoes and begins to bump with fury
his posterior skull to the old hollow sounding wooden floor in an accelerated motion.
I tried to ignore him for he was not with me.
I then waved to one of the workers
the field, and it did not come as a surprise to see them waving back!

No, I will not hurt you little people in the field for you
are truly breathing, and I. . .
I am on the other side now.

                                                                  Apple - The otherside

                                                                               Pg 158

Reviews for chapter 31

Mark Demaio - You were really out of your shoes on this bummer of a trip to nowhere

Sally Diloreto - I do not understand this line, "two worthless misfits
that will not have the intelligence of a shoelace."

Charles Pendelton - If a shoelace and a man who is restrained lay on the ground, the man
who is immobilized will attempt to remedy his situation by escaping. The poor shoelace
will forever remain, because it doesn't have the will to move until the wind blows.

If any image on this site is considered to be offensive, it will be removed. If it has been copied without
proper consent, please contact me immediately and the image will either be removed, or credit shall be
given unto the person or persons responsible. Whether it be an artist, photographer, cartoonist., etc.

PG 152) Being is perceiving by Jeff Christensen - 

PG 152) Black clown devil
by R. S. Connett -

PG 152)
Forbidden Planet Space Cruiser -

PG 153) Black Heroin
by R. S. Connett -

PG 153) Leonardo's bioconstruction
Ruben Cukier -

PG 153) Along came a spider
by Dan Staten -

PG 154) Spider web
by Steve Thomas -

PG 154) Back alley tavern
by Lisa Hunt -

PG 154) Synergenesis
by Simon Haiduk -

PG 155) Irish Night
by Christos Karapanos -

PG 155) The Game
by Ilene Meyer - 

PG 155) Delusions
by Paul Booth -

PG 155) Bio
by Andrei Beloborodov -

PG 155) Today will be a dessert apple
by Jaroslaw Jasnikowski -

PG 156) Do The Freddie
by Pat Rocha -

PG 156)
Si les ecrits s'envolaient...
by Catherine Alexandre -

PG 156)
Het spel van Bastet
Frits Dang -

PG 156)
News cult
by J. Slattum

PG 156)
At the gates of the forgotten Gods
by Raceanu Mihai Adrian -

PG 156)
Confiscated identity
by Aunia Kahn -

PG 156) Fear
by Joe Scorsone and Alice Drueding -

PG 156)
by Alex Grey -

PG 156) Lovecraft's Nightmare "B"
by Michael Whelan -

PG 157) Insight
by Oleg Korolev -

PG 157) Final thought
by Brian Smith -

PG 157) Paranoid_I
by Paul Booth -

PG 157) Grip
by Andy B. Clarkson -

PG 157) Guilt
by Joe Scorsone and Alice Drueding -

PG 157) The extraction of the stone of madness
by Hieronymus Bosch -

PG 157) Everlasting souls of love
by Michael Cheval -

PG 157) Simple Simon
by Marion Peck -

PG 157) The Visage of War
by Salvador Dalí -

PG 158) Passions disparues
by Claude Verlinde -

PG 158) Recollection of a town
by Marcin Ko?panowicz -

PG 158) Oversoul
by Alex Grey - 

PG 158) Yoim
by Satoshi Sakamoto -

PG 158) Harmony
by Remedios Varo -

PG 158) Abracadabra
by Chris Buzelli -

PG 158) Waterhouse
by Esao Andrews -

PG 158) Notte del fungo
by Dean Fleming - 

PG 158) Cthonic
by Scott Purdy -

PG 158) Scarecrow
by Jeff Christensen -