The periods of lost time are growing longer and more frequent. There are now great gulfs in my memory, giant holes, which I navigate around via the narrowest of pathways, barely wide enough to walk. My sanity is stretched thin and rickety.
These expanses, these holes, this missing time, are like huge empty eye sockets. I look down inside them and see the contours, spiral ridges threaded down the cliffs. It's as if the massive moments themselves were unscrewed and lifted from my mind, leaving nothing but a vacuous darkness.
I take a rest, dangling my feet off the precipice, and allow my fingers to trace the threads of spiral curves. Here too they are carved with strange symbols, which I can read with my fingertips... imQ'ryu'xlotl... @distantTim
... J. Jaques and Son...
I reach too far and slip off the edge--
do cats eat bats do bats eat cats do cats eat bats do bats eat cats
I’d been experiencing periods of lost time, which, as every Psyhigh student knows, is nothing in itself to worry about.
They were sporadic, and never very long at first. But they’d been getting longer and longer and I began to find shapes and messages scribbled onto scraps of paper and carved into my desk in my room. Strange symbols that seemed to crawl from the woodwork itself, drawing my mind towards an everlasting inward spiral.
I resisted the pull of the spiral, for a time, but the shapes are so alluring I am spending more and more time with them each day, tracing them with my fingers. Like this:
There's a toad that takes up most of my back yard. Staring at us. Thinking about croaking again. We got the windows replaced with plexiglass, so next time he croaks we'll be safe. We got lucky the first time.