sleep...wake...sleep...wake?!

Ever wake up from those really weird dreams wondering...what the fuck just happened? Then you look around, and you're like hey wait what the fuck is this?!?!? You look around, you find yourself inside a dark cement corridor, with very little light, you smell must and it feels damp. It's cold, you realize you've been bleeding for sometime, you feel weak and cold and wonder if it's because of the blood loss or because the temperature is low, then you realize it doesn't matter, you just need to get rid of this sensation. You explore towards the light, because that's the only way you'll learn anything, because you can't see in the dark and you can't really feel around with your tentacles to make out a picture, because first of all it'd take too long, and second of all they're so numb that you question whether you actually have tentacles. You venture down the labyrinthine corridors, you meet other creatures, but they seem to be travesties of life, senseless things walking into the same wall over and over seemingly going no where, or just going in circles, or writhing on the surface below them; some on the ceiling. You meander through, not knowing what you seek but hoping it will find you or somehow become apparent that it is what you seek, once gazed upon. You continue to walk down the corridor, you're not certain because there isn't enough light, but you sense that the corridor is getting smaller and smaller. Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel a sting of pain on your head and a cold droplet of what you assume to be blood making it's way down your forehead. You start to retract your appendages further and further to accommodate the force encroaching on your space, you retract further and further until you are laying down with not enough space to crawl, but just to lay there and drag yourself forward using the sand and dirt already present on the floor as lubrication between your body and the surrounding tight circular passageway. You wonder if it will just get so tight that it will crush you and continue to get tighter down it's length until it ceases to exist, but you find that you're already stuck in this position and that it'd take an equal amount of effort to go back where you came from, and you're curious to see if it actually does get tighter, despite the consequence of getting stuck in such an ever increasingly tight situation, nearly starving to death, and being prematurely devoured by vermin while still conscious. But you decide, what the hell, I might as well figure it out. You reach further and further, to grasp the floor/ground (it begins to get coarser and coarser and you wonder whether such jagged planes can still be considered a floor...but meaningless distractions ahhh you must push further, no knowledge in a name...). You continue to pull this body which you're attached to but doesn't serve much but offer extra weight for an increasingly exponentially weakening arm, or tentacle, you can't remember anymore, you just continue forward. You reach forward to press against the floor/wall/ground and use the friction to anchor your limb as it pulls the rest of the flesh behind it. But as you reach, like not appreciating the last step at the bottom of the staircase which retorts with a surprising falling out of nowhere feeling, your hand falls and realizes that miraculously the tightening passageway spills out into a bowel much bigger. You, with agonizing effort, lift yourself back to your feet, you feel dizzy and lightheaded, lean against a curved wall, regain yourself, look around; and suddenly out of the darkness, what appears to be a sentient being, or being which seemed to be trapped on the same level of madness as you, fades into existence, getting closer to you out of the darkness. It seems frenzied with odd facial contortions and quick sporadic body language, trying to communicate with you, jumbling meanings together, some you recognize, others you pretend to. He's babbling quickly, you don't understand, he seems to be in a hurry. A constant look of amazement and terror in his eyes, his eyes dart around wildly, it seems like something in the distance catches his attention. He lurches away, and fades into the darkness, no time for goodbyes, nor any reason. After some time he finds you in the darkness and returns to your side, excitedly tugs on your tentacles (or is that your long hair? you don't care to confirm, but these annoying questions keep popping into your head. Then you wonder if you actually have a head, then you snap out of it and look at the damn thing the creature brought you). It's a weathered and torn wallet, you recognize it from somewhere, you just don't know where. He excitedly opens it, his hands shaking with arthritis. You look at the contents he invites your attention to, you recognize the world federation identification card with your picture on it, though the corners seem chewed up and grimy, surfaces are faded and scratched, but you recognize it as an aged version of the one you used to carry around, who knows how long ago, maybe in a dream sometime ago due to it having the scars of use from when you had it, (scars garnered accidentally and purposefully, you recall the day you melted one of the corners of the card with the heat from a fluorescent bulb, in utter disdain at the maltreatment of the people by the self appointed "caretakers" [the same feeling you imagine the farm animals in small cages, force fed antibiotics, must think, if they are foolish enough to think anymore] , and also because you just wanted to see for yourself that the emblem of the federation, like you, would cower before the forces of nature; to confirm that nature was still the greater oppressor; the physical laws…only nothing can escape) plus extra from forgotten time. This creature is seemingly trying to explain that he is also in the identification card, that he is…you?! Without a moment to let this thought settle and take form, he quickly and in hushed tones whispers of enlightenment and traps of illusion, life force parasites, and how you are to escape before twenty twelve. You assume he meant twenty twelve o' clock; and a part of you bitterly laughs even in such situations, with no sight of any of the suns, and no clock, that he can expect such promptness and attention to detail, but you keep this to yourself. He reaches for some medicine he intends for you to ingest, his crippled hand struggles to reach out and give you this medicine, but suddenly out of the darkness a tentacle methodically attaches itself via suction to the scalp of this aged creature before you, and begins inflating and deflating, sucking out something from the crown of his head. His face goes pale, his eyes roll back, his tongue gags out of his mouth, but otherwise his face is expressionless without change, it's dead. He is suspended from the ground, but despite his lifeless appearance you sense some sort of struggle. You feel something plunk and attach to the crown of your head, you feel suction, and then the world before you slowly dissolves away and is replaced by an endless swarm of cubicles inhabited by the senseless beings you saw bumping into walls over and over and going in circles from before, but in this realm they seemed to be more in a hurry to do so. You focus your vision from far to near, and you realize that co workers are standing around auditing you. You've pissed your pants, there's a caffeine/ amphetamine concoction spilled on your uniform (bad boy they say, you were supposed to inject that like the rest of us). There is a weird attachment to your neck, it feels like a noose tied around your neck, you try to cock your head back but this noose is too short and caught on something, you realize it's your arm, your own doing. You look around, they all seem to be very demanding and expect some kind of quick response and action from you, NOW NWO NOW. You try to ignore them, to regain yourself, you just wish to be left alone, given some time to make sense of all of these allusions, illusions, and may I dare say truth. But they seem angered, and shaking their heads, they seem offended very offended; you wonder how you got into this situation, but what you wonder more is how ridiculous it is for these things to assume you exist for their use, as if any of your actions were done with the knowledge that they exist. You wonder if they do actually exist, and the only reason you will suppose they do for the moment is because they are so harshly encroaching on your immediate space and senses, you wonder if you could crawl around a corner, get them out of sight, out of mind, out of your world, if maybe that would satisfy. But you hear their incessant voices, whispers, and you sense that they can sense you as well, even though you'd rather they existed in such a distant realm that they almost did not exist; though you respect their right to exist so that is why you suggest this rather than the alternative. You understand they can hear everything you do, everything you say, type, read, think. You don't mind about your appearance or reputation, but this gives more fuel to their criticism, every action you do. It wouldn't matter if their thoughts existed some place else, but it always has a nasty way of manifesting into blockades or lashings, so you try to not upset them, though you care nothing for them. You don't pay attention to what they say, you try not to make eye contact, but when they all laugh at some fart sound, burn a book, put a cat in the washing machine, or venture to a far away land to pick up a rock and drop a pyramid on an animal relaxing in the sand, you feel obliged to laugh in unison, though it kills you every time. Slowly losing yourself, joining the pack, slowly dying. You wish to some how break free, but the punishments seem too severe, you are too scared to be scarred again, too weak to become yourself. You begin to wonder, is this all real, what is this, when you see the world melting away, when you begin to grasp at some truth, you find yourself surrounded by sick mob groups that yearn for blood, they need it, they want an excuse to have it. Your clothes don't match today, you forgot to shave your poorly growing facial hair (not that you care how it comes out, though just letting it grow out takes no effort so you opt for that). They all nervously claw at you, and giggle with each other in unison at how witty they are or stylish, though behind this you see their eyes nervously and suspiciously looking around wondering when they will be cannibalized next, trying to grease the right palms, shed the plastic smile to the right people to prolong this one day more, one day more. I'm scared to be under the microscope, to be shown to be yet another travesty of life, a mechanical being which happened to assemble itself the right way to feign existence, arrogantly looking down at other supposed inanimate matter, as if it was such an accomplishment to become aware and experience pain. You try to dream to escape, but their eyes burn red, they want you to suffer; they will not let you escape, never. You see a ladder, you attempt to climb it, you climb longer and longer, higher and higher, there’s another ladder parallel to it, they seem to dance around each other, always twirling, spiraling around each other like an endless staircase of knowledge, or maybe like a bullet spinning through nothing, and destroying everything in its path. You keep climbing but you wonder how long you can suffer to do this, to maintain this library, your hands were weak to begin with, but you find it mechanically impossible to continue any longer. You feel your fingers slowly slipping, the beings higher in the ladder are cackling as they pour oil down the spine, the black viscous remnants of those that deteriorated in the struggle from the past, but not allowed to rest in peace, continually exploited to fuel wars among the walking dead. The blackness engulfs you, it seeps into your palms covering the lines of history, the grasp becomes more futile, you struggle for air, try to hold your head above the blackness, try to swim for just a little while longer, but you are drowning. Eventually, weak and unable to hold your own weight, you slip from the ladder and fall into the blackness, struggle to hold your breath, but you eventually instinctively gasp for air, but all that remains is the blackness, no air, no air, it gets inside you and corrodes you. You cough it out, and turn your head, but there is only more blackness to breathe in, you eventually cease to struggle, and melt away into the sands of time. You are lost to the sands of time, but they will not let you rest in peace, they will seek your essence out, drain you out, burn you out, and use you as a solvent for life, a black hole. You have fallen off the ladder; you join the extinct, faceless and continual slaves to be endlessly exploited to fuel endlessly waged wars amongst the walking dead. You try to close your eyes and drift to a better place, but your imagination has been corrupted and tainted with a million ways of how they will poison you, or kidnap you one day and gang molest you then seal you in a dark cesspool somewhere for you to slowly deteriorate and rot but never fully die, to be sold for [insert monopoly agreed upon price] a gallon, a million light years from what you once were, maybe you never were anyway? But you look around and realize, that your suffering is real regardless.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LNkEWiGTqA (System of a down- Ego Brain)