Time Warp

I was in a time warp. The last of the evil ages had come and gone, it occurred to me numbly, but what was that to me? I was a thinking brain with no brain; I was a disembodied intellect without any intellect. I was the voice of my future self and this future self of mine – in which such great stock has been placed – is nothing other than the ghost of my past self, which is a tormented being stuck in a hell realm from which it cannot escape. The hibernation chamber holding the brains of my fellow crew members had been jettisoned by accident into outer space and I was all alone. All alone with my hallucinations, I commented grimly to myself. All alone with my hallucinations, which were which are as disturbing as they are incomprehensible. Some are sexual in nature and same are not. I shall speak more of that later on however.


Spirits came to me, wishing to speak to me. They reached out to me from the Other World. Beings of light came to me from the Light Realm; they came to tell me things about reality – things I all too quickly forgot. I was an habitual amnesiac, after all. I was the sleeping god and the more I slept the more I wanted to sleep. Sleep called out to me and I, for my part, rushed eagerly into its arms. Sleep called out to me and never have I heard a sweet voice! My insides turned into jelly when I heard that voice, calling out softly to me as it did, and my legs wobbled helplessly under me. All I wanted was sleep and I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.


My spaceship had crash-landed on a barren and inhospitable planet – the tachyonic drive unit had burnt out and I very much doubted if I would ever be able to repair it. The Hibernation Pod crash landed further up the mountain slope; it had not made such a good landing and all the containment capsules had cracked open as a result of the impact. The precious fluid had drained out onto the jagged rocks.


I knew that this had happened and yet at the same time I knew that it was yet to happen. The event of which I speak had already happened, had irrevocably happened, and yet it was also about to happen. The memory of the catastrophe that was about to happen looms above me like a great dark mountain – it casts a shadow that I can never crawl out from under. The sun is mercilessly hot, but the shadow under which I lay with is damp and chill, as chill as a grave. The catastrophe looms ever me like a mountain, it towers over me like an accident that is yet to happen but which always had happened. All roads lead up to this point, all portents speak of it.


The spirits of the dead crew members come to me in dreams, seeking to wake me up. They speak urgently of important things; they painstakingly instruct me on how to reactivate the ship’s core. They give me the information that I need and yet it is still no good – it is no good because nothing can rouse me from the pit of sleep into which I have so heedlessly fallen. The more I sleep the more I want to sleep; the more I sleep the greedier I become for yet more sleep. My greed is inexhaustible. Sleep lies heavy all around me. It had collected on the ground in dark puddles and my clothing is saturated with it. This was no ordinary state of sleep that I am speaking of – it was a craving for mental oblivion that knew no limits, a craving for obliteration that could never be satiated. Sleep was an evil drug and I was a craven drug addict, motivated only by the cravings that existed within me and possessed me like demons.


Consciousness has become a monstrosity to me that had to be destroyed by any means. Consciousness has become a horror to me, the instigator of nightmares. I wake from one dream and plunge straight into another, soaked in ice-cold sweat. I flee from one dream to another dream, relentlessly followed the whole time by my pursuing nemesis. No sooner have I retreated into one obscure and dismal dream then their telepathic radar tracks me down and I knew that I had to bury myself in dreams all over again. I must have turned my back on consciousness a million times, yet each time it rises up against me again. It up rises against me in ever more terrible forms.








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