One quiet evening, heh, spent under the influence. Hemingway got tight on absinthe, and was there a sober, successful Irish author? With such a precedent I liberate my senses through chemistry and let my mind go where it will. So long as it returns...
Blackness engulfs me and my head tilts with vertigo. In this internal journey I can almost feel wind rushing past my face. It's a wall of air heaving as something approaches.
Always, my mind returns to the compromise, the tradeoffs, the systematic bartering of our souls. It's the most elementary political concept for the young radical: corporations = bad, nature - good. Why am I so hung up on this? Is it the romanticism of protestors in the streets? The eternal golden tragedy of our men and women trucked off like livestock, converted to cannon fodder? Overly simplistic ideation but irresistable. Whenever my mind wanders this is the path it takes. If only I knew why.
Selfless, I drift through the pristine hinterlands of our nation. I try to calm myself with its elements, rock and wood and big sky. Yet again encroaches the destruction, the creeping crud of civilization spreading like a cancer, corrupting everything it touches, consuming, overwhelming...
My mind screems for release and breaks through to consciousness. How long was I out? Maybe hours, maybe a minute, it doesn't matter. I"m haunted by this recursive message that won't leave me alone. I take a deep breath and pull open the curtains to let the sun soak into my skin, but always the spectre of this nightmare remains with me.