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underwater heart attack The gods need us as much as we need them. You see, forgotten gods disappear when we stop believing. We're all tied together, handcuffed in heaps in the trunk of an old yellow Nova with a shotgun duct taped between our aching jaws. No one knows where we're being taken, but half of us are hoping the gun won't go off when we fishtail around the next turn and up over the curb, and the other half, well, the other half are praying to some nameless god that our brains will be accidentally splattered all over the shadows of this turpentine stained trunk. Some people's survival instinct is just stronger than others'. I used to sit in the dark, balled up underneath an old school desk I had in my room. I wasn't scared of the dark. It protected me. I was a part of it. It was safe. The world is gradients. Everything is the dark grey of ocean water at the point just before light can no longer penetrate it. Colors are just the imagination at play, assigning values to slight gradients and sending impulses to our brains so we can see things that aren't there. I feel like a heart beating underwater, hypothermic, out of place, convulsing every few seconds sending slight ripples across the surface, slowly shutting down, beating less and less often until it stops struggling and the water is still at last. ----- - - 6:32 p.m. , January 29, 2005 personal empowerment - 9:48 p.m. , January 12, 2005 jaksdf - 7:22 p.m. , December 19, 2004 the break up - 11:08 p.m. , December 16, 2004 fists of rage - 6:28 p.m. , December 13, 2004 |