Sirium 1.1

I. Twilight Raccoon Frat Party

1. Fluorescence

I’m sitting at the end of a long hallway with a buzzing, flickering light overhead.

I can’t keep my eyes open, eyelids heavy, like lidded metal trash cans at the curb. The wind blows, knocking them over, letting everything spill out. Maybe I’m like that. Maybe if I keep my eyes open everything will spill out.

The hall is long, blurry. Old yellowed light paints the walls like a dingy hospital. Closed doors line either side as far as I can see before everything slips away into an oblivion of white and my eyes, pressed shut for a moment, spring open again, an endless game of oscillation, unable to cling to any solid state solution. I’ve ceased to be differentiable. I’m no longer a real-valued function. Maybe all of this is imaginary.

There’s laughter. Blurred figures cross in front of me, two at first, right to left, dark between the hallway’s light, moving silhouettes that take no notice.

One figure–another one, not the same one–goes left to right, huge, high steps to get over something on the floor. I look down. My legs. People don’t care. They just keep crossing. The time between two people stretches into eternity like a number line–any two whole-numbered occurrences can be counted to infinity, but between two of them lives an infinite realm more massive than anything the human mind could count.

There’re other sounds somewhere. Maybe it’s music or drumming or something. I feel it more than hear it, the pressure of airwaves on my skin, the thudder thudder thudder of reverberations through fluid media. It’s like I’m underwater, but I’m breathing this in, it’s oxygen, and there’s no distortion of the light as it finds my retinas, no wavy illusions of living underwater, in a fish tank, the specimen of some greater species that believes–like we do–we can capture lesser minds and make them ours, make them live like and feel like they have everything, merit to magnanimity, when really they have nothing. They are. The English implies existence, nothing more than that.

I am. Somewhere, sometime. But existence implies nothing more than that.

NEXT PART: Incandescence


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