“The thing was quite sudden, though later I realized that certain brief, glimmering visions of several hours previous - chaotic visions which disturbed me greatly because they were so unprecedented - must have formed premonitory symptoms. My head was aching, and I had a singular feeling - altogether new to me - that some one else was trying to get possession of my thoughts.” – H.P. Lovecraft, The Shadow Out of Time
Like a spell, like a stroke, like a kick in the head, it’s like the throes of an epileptic seizure. Like the crud that you feel after sleeping for days
Like a dream, like a trip, like a drug-induced haze
And I recall only little bits and pieces of vague similitudes that my instinct says are not even mine
Like a slope, like a maze, like a bottomless pit winding around in a secret combination. Like the strain that you make trying to figure it out
Like a death, like a gap, like a watery grave and all I hear is impossible distorted impressions of a world that I’m positive is not even mine.
I knew a thing or two until the time strange outer forces wasted my tiny mind. I could not stop it
Like an edge, like a void, like a limitless fall; entire lives spent in constant isolation. Like a shard from a frozen shattered aeon of time
Like a voice, like a crack, like a whispering shriek that echoes on like it’s carpet-bombing feverish white jungles of thought that I’m positive are not even mine.
How long have I been gone, tucked down inside this limbo while my dreams are crushing me? Enormous gulfs enormous glyphs enormous galleries. Fragmented visions of a nightmare city full of cone-shaped beings and me