Riding The All Too Literal Spiral
<< 9:56 a.m. - Tuesday, Nov. 11, 2003 >>
High. We baked. The pen I held to write was so cold and dead in my hand, inflexible. All the words I scratched out, I forget their secret meaning I had in the recesses of my head. Couldn�t have been a stranger experience. Still quelling in the undertones. But I�m not sure; adrenalin pumps and I sit languid. Echoes of my movements pass by seconds after I think I�ve committed them to this three dimensional world. But I know, it�s me, and my eyes are not giving me an accurate picture of what passes me by. Thrilling and wholly frustrating at the same moment. Like a spiral, I fade in and out. Find myself jerking awake, and things clear and then thinking all the time, that I am present, and forgetting what I said a second ago. Try short-term memory. That is where my intoxicated body remained. Words come in and I can�t process them, it feels like eons in a ticked minute. I�m under foggy glass, and it�s all so funny, because I�ve lost basic motor skills. Buttons seem amazingly difficult and sometimes I forget where I am, and what I�m doing. And what the fuck does it matter? Let me go, let me float away.

�What the hell is he doing? He seems completely out of it. They are talking about peanut butter. Every once and a while I gain clarity. But lose it again. I hate this. I missed that. Present shifts to past, and reflections of what my arms are, aren�t. They�ve forgotten me. I�m trying to break out. But Brenna is angry, and wants to go? Dammit, Andrew is making the camera flash.�