|
|
Friday, July 27th, 2007
|
3:54a - Hanging parade.
So what's it like to be hanged?
Oh, you get used to it.
I don't know. I don't think I'll ever get used to it.
That's what I thought at first but after a while I just... did. You know?
No. I never really understood that part.
Oh everyone's doing it, you know? First day there were dozens and within a week it was up to hundreds and then thousands a day. Join the hanging parade. Some lucky ones manage to go down five times before snapping their mortal thread and plunging into oblivion.
How's that feel?
It feels like nothing. There is nothing to feel. You're dead.
So why do it?
They put a noose around his head. She already has rope around her neck.
Oh for the experience.
Experience?
The feeling of it all. It's a collision of human experiences.
I don't understand.
We just want to wake up. Humans, we're made to sleep. You see people on the street walking, doing whatever they normally do. Every daily thing they do is a routine. They've done everything at least twice. It's so routine that they don't even realize it's routine. The only time they have a new, genuine experience is when something goes wrong. That is when you're truly alive because you become like a newborn. A clean slate on which to write the sensations and feelings on.
And thoughts?
No. Thoughts are just an analysis of what we experience. A bayonet in the gut or a kiss spurred by love and we suddenly find ourselves trying to mesh what we sensed with everything else in our lives. No matter if it doesn't fit. We put it someplace. It's like blocks and holes. Sometimes it fits and sometimes it doesn't. When it doesn't we force it in and form whatever delusions we can so that we can remember it. It becomes one of us. A useful experience from which to draw on routines. But the original experience is always raw, pure emotion. We need it but we tend to run away from it. Because it can only come from the unexpected and we naturally fear the unexpected. So we try our best to fake it. To throw in emotion from a controlled environment. Whether you ride a rollercoaster or inflict a wound on yourself or try so many times to fall in love or lose yourself in a bottle... but it's never good enough because on some level you expect it. You know it's there. And thus it, in some way, is already generalized. The unexpected becomes routine. But we always seek it. Skirting that razor's edge between safety and disaster. Do you see what I mean?
The platform gives way. They fall. Each noose taught. Hundreds of men, women, and children fall with them. Their faces turn red but bodies turn pale and start to shrivel up noticeably. He tightens every muscle possible and turns to her.
I think I know.
He speaks through a blue tongue.
The surrender of control. Faced with a real chance of death but with a window of survival. It's like a russian roulette high but half the chambers are loaded and you never see the gun. It's not an adrenaline rush. It's seeing the world through new eyes. Forgetting who one is and everything that's ever happened and simply living in the moment. Like trying to drown Pavlov's dogs...
His eyes roll up and tongue suddenly shrivels up into a meaty raisin. He does not make it.
A real chance of death.
(comment on this)
|
4:05p
"We pay you here to work the fryers! NOT, I repeat NOT to commit random acts of fellatio on the stuffed polar bear!"
"Fuck this. I quit!"
"We want our mouthwash back too!"
(comment on this)
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
enamon's journal