Monday, September 10, 2012

She's Waxing Reality Off My Face


I was reading alone in my livingroom, when suddenly there arose a loud cry coming from my den. Putting down my book, I ran into the room and saw Mr. Swim sitting in the darkness, his hands clutching the armrests of his recliner. Immediately, he arched his head back and shouted,
"She's Waxing Reality Off My Face!"

I raised my arm to turn on the light, but he grabbed my shirt and yelled, "Keep It Dark".
He then said that he could still see the trailing edge of the reality moving away from him. "It's like a woman's wedding gown sliding across the surface of a floor, flowing into the distance like retinal lava," he added.

I asked him what was going on, and he answered that he had just smoked some extract.
"How much did you smoke?" I asked.
"Some plain leaf topped off with 10x," was his reply.
I was worried that he was freaking out, but he said he was calming down because it all seemed so familiar.
"What do you mean, it seems so familiar?"
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Whenever I do extract, all my trips start out with the same opening visuals."
I asked, "What do you see?"

He adjusted his chair, leaned back and said, "The opening visual field usually contains some brightly lit building blocks. During this latest trip, the building blocks transformed into carvings of mallard ducks. Except they weren't ducks. They were people, all cloned from the same wooden original. They arranged themselves into the shape of a chair. It's like the back of the chair was made of two vertical mallard people connected together by four horizontal mallard people.
I poked his recliner and said, "And then what happened?"

Mr. Swim continued, "I must have blacked out for a few seconds. When I came to, I saw the backside of a human being flowing towards me. As soon as I recognized the form as a human, it immediately began to deconstruct. The human's back broke up into horizontal bricks, and then rematerialized as the flat surface of an end table. This all happened within a couple of seconds. It's as if the human wanted to cloak himself into the table, to hide within its ubiquity."
I stood there trying to gather this all in. Then I asked him,
"So what did you mean when you yelled, 'She's waxing reality off my face'?"

Mr. Swim lifted up his hand and dragged it across his hairline.
"It's like someone grabbed hold of my scalp and ripped my face off. But it wasn't my face being ripped off. It was reality being ripped off. I no longer identified with my material face. I now identified with the visual membrane flowing away from my face. I had been sucked through my eye holes into a visual world that now contained me and all my identity. Time had seemingly broken in two. I could see my face receeding into its own temporal field; and now I was traveling in time through a different temporal field."

I stood there in the darkness watching him, my mouth ajar.
Mr. Swim continued, "There was something beautiful about this visual membrane. It was half organic, half inorganic. It was completely made out of interconnecting entities, similar to people, all working together to form this living, constantly morphing, hyperdimensional tissue. It was like an alien civilization living in a type of cosmic womb. I knew intuitively that if graphic artists could duplicate what I saw, the world would change overnight. It would be a REVELATION, a REVOLUTION."

Mr. Swim then adjusted his chair back to an upright position.
I asked him if he wanted the light back on, but he replied that he was going to sit there and collect his thoughts. He was considering posting them on the internet.

And so I exited the room and closed the door behind me.