What is cacophonia? A country? A strange phenomenon? A state of mind? I guess all of the above. Regardless when it hits you you know it. Because it is truly unpleasant. And when it occurs, it always does it without warning. There is virtually no place to hide. It befalls you like an impulsive summer rain and drenches you through and through. The din inside becomes so loud that it takes a remarkable mind to stomp it. That's not mine.
Really, I am really not good at it. All I can see are my thoughts running around like wild monkeys on steroids. They don't even let me catch my breath. Not only there's no time for it, but also I have no ability to see what the wild monkeys are doing to me. I can only blame myself. After being demoted from my hero status, I knew that only choice was to head for the garbage cans of fairy tales. You may find this to be an extreme reaction but someone like me, in my situation, has nowhere to hide anymore. No novel where I can flounder through the plot of the story and make my way to my denouement. No film where I can brave the darkest elements of my deepest obscure nature and the most excruciating obstacles an antagonist could throw at me. Once you get demoted, you've reached the gates of the black doughnut . . .
Let me tell you about the black doughnut. This is where I stand, and sorry to inform you but where you stand as well. It may take you time to get there. But you will. We all do. So listen to me carefully, when you fall into the black doughnut, all you have left for you to wrestle with is cacophonia.
Once the soothing and compelling curtain of stories crashes and burns at your feet, no amount of substitutions will work. Your book is broken. Big time. My book is broken. I wish I could say my record is broken, but then again that would imply that I repeat myself and repeat the same foolish words.
Cacophonia is ruthless. It will cull you up wherever you have collapsed and will scrape off the mask of persona without blinking. Try to live without a persona without a transition . . . This is the end of the road for stories and beliefs. Beyond is a massive precipice. Well, actually, it is not quite true. It is more like a rounded hole. It is still very large. The center, around which you can catch sight of the entire mammoth doughnut, around which you spend years and years running around, adding laps, like a blind puppy chasing some chimeric tail. Have you ever perceived the doughnut as you fall, like I did? Even just a glimpse? Write to me and share your experience with others.
Cacophonia greets me always in the middle of the night. Trust me I've yelled at it not to come back. But I'm weakened, my defenses are down. non-existent. It always come back for more. The feeling of its crushing embrace, like pliers around your head, squeezing slowly and slowly . . . As soon as I intuit its contact on my skin, I wakes up. My heart reliving the great fall beats like chugging locomotive. Loud and uneven. The throbbing thuds in my ears. My mind kicks in even before I cracked my eyes open. Lists, rescue lists parade on the screen of my eyes. I talk to myself: "How did I get here? Is it really possible that this is my life? I have no job. I have no contacts. At my age no one is going to hire me back. I drown under a mountain of debts. I have no friends either." Friends . . . Let's talk about them. They all deserted me as my situation worsened. I clung to them, told them about the doughnut, the midnight horror. They raised their eyebrows, with a cheshire cat grin for apologies, before heading for the door. And the bills, the bills . . . Oh God the bills, How am I going to pay them this month? Like a junky, what sort of tricks I'm going to have to resort to not to rock the boat. What boat I'm talking about you're going to ask me? The boat that swirls around the doughnut. It floats around in a toilet just waiting for the final flush to be sucked up by gravity down into the center hole.
Next post I will share my vision of blackness down in the centre of the doughnut. The Ghost in the Machine is not who you think it is.
Really, I am really not good at it. All I can see are my thoughts running around like wild monkeys on steroids. They don't even let me catch my breath. Not only there's no time for it, but also I have no ability to see what the wild monkeys are doing to me. I can only blame myself. After being demoted from my hero status, I knew that only choice was to head for the garbage cans of fairy tales. You may find this to be an extreme reaction but someone like me, in my situation, has nowhere to hide anymore. No novel where I can flounder through the plot of the story and make my way to my denouement. No film where I can brave the darkest elements of my deepest obscure nature and the most excruciating obstacles an antagonist could throw at me. Once you get demoted, you've reached the gates of the black doughnut . . .
Let me tell you about the black doughnut. This is where I stand, and sorry to inform you but where you stand as well. It may take you time to get there. But you will. We all do. So listen to me carefully, when you fall into the black doughnut, all you have left for you to wrestle with is cacophonia.
Once the soothing and compelling curtain of stories crashes and burns at your feet, no amount of substitutions will work. Your book is broken. Big time. My book is broken. I wish I could say my record is broken, but then again that would imply that I repeat myself and repeat the same foolish words.
Cacophonia is ruthless. It will cull you up wherever you have collapsed and will scrape off the mask of persona without blinking. Try to live without a persona without a transition . . . This is the end of the road for stories and beliefs. Beyond is a massive precipice. Well, actually, it is not quite true. It is more like a rounded hole. It is still very large. The center, around which you can catch sight of the entire mammoth doughnut, around which you spend years and years running around, adding laps, like a blind puppy chasing some chimeric tail. Have you ever perceived the doughnut as you fall, like I did? Even just a glimpse? Write to me and share your experience with others.
Cacophonia greets me always in the middle of the night. Trust me I've yelled at it not to come back. But I'm weakened, my defenses are down. non-existent. It always come back for more. The feeling of its crushing embrace, like pliers around your head, squeezing slowly and slowly . . . As soon as I intuit its contact on my skin, I wakes up. My heart reliving the great fall beats like chugging locomotive. Loud and uneven. The throbbing thuds in my ears. My mind kicks in even before I cracked my eyes open. Lists, rescue lists parade on the screen of my eyes. I talk to myself: "How did I get here? Is it really possible that this is my life? I have no job. I have no contacts. At my age no one is going to hire me back. I drown under a mountain of debts. I have no friends either." Friends . . . Let's talk about them. They all deserted me as my situation worsened. I clung to them, told them about the doughnut, the midnight horror. They raised their eyebrows, with a cheshire cat grin for apologies, before heading for the door. And the bills, the bills . . . Oh God the bills, How am I going to pay them this month? Like a junky, what sort of tricks I'm going to have to resort to not to rock the boat. What boat I'm talking about you're going to ask me? The boat that swirls around the doughnut. It floats around in a toilet just waiting for the final flush to be sucked up by gravity down into the center hole.
Next post I will share my vision of blackness down in the centre of the doughnut. The Ghost in the Machine is not who you think it is.
No comments:
Post a Comment