###EXTEMPOREALITY 4
So now I am little more than a meat puppet, careening wildly through space-time and I don't even get a seat belt, with an unspeaking but seemingly protagonistic unconscious at the wheel. How can one be so disconnected and yet convey themselves as sober? I really grilled Constable on this, and he swore that I could pass a sobriety check, if it weren't for my jabbering about how tripped out I felt. This wasn't drunkeness, but some part of it reminded me of it. It isn't like I'm dizzy, but I'm completely dissociated and that itself is very dizzying.
Constable stood up, —Alright, I'm heading to the lake. Do you want to come with? He is cool as a cucumber. No stress, no imposition of his will, just a perfect trip-keeper for his bizarre voyage. I was feeling listless, edgy, and totally helpless.
—I don't know, well, {I don't want to be alone in here} yeah I'll come. I glanced at the window. {Fuck me, it's super dark out there.} {Whatever, you're not going to die. Constable is here.}
We hadn't even breeched the doorway before I had almost completely lost memory of sitting in the leather chair. The Eternal Now.
—How you feeling, buddy? I didn't know how to answer him. The dark was overwhelming, but I had enough sense to know that nothing was really HAPPENING to me, at least physically. I'm just... sloughing time. How else can I describe it? Right now I'm sitting in a kitchen chair thinking back and I feel like I'm completely at a loss for words.
The verbal illustration I wrote about in the last section was just as strongly affecting my sense of position as I walked down the embankment. I'm on the screened porch, looking out to the blackness of the evening. The porch is a distant memory, and now I'm stumbling through the grass. What porch? There's a tree ahead of me, man that's far away. The tree is behind me; what tree...
—I think I'm doing okay. {Who are you kidding?}
—Well let me know if you need to go back. We're almost done.
-=-.o._.o.-=-‾-=-.o._.o.-=-
evan@thebogboys.space