Clacking. (649 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.36 on 12 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by K.M (View user info) at 2004-03-12 16:17:03 EST
Hello, I am Dead. I want to tell you a little story. But first, let me give you some background information.
I no longer have much of a name, but for convenience sake; call me Taylor.
As far back as I could remember, I had possessed a peculiar knack for observation, a unique perception of that which was around me. Not to say that I understood such a thing at the time; I was only very young.
But one thing is for sure, however, and that is that it persisted. A perennial Tug, a perpetual Flicker Of Lighting in my mind's eye, that just barely failed to illuminate the shadowy forms of Truth.
Such a difficult feeling to convey! It is best described as this.
It was as if I were on the furthest razors edge of a cliff that towered over an Ocean of Revelation. It was as if the very ether of the universe had all but laid itself bare before my eyes, and only my eyes. As if all the infinitely complex inner workings of human existence possessed some common element, some unseen ingredient that, once exposed, would provide poignant Understanding and the world would make perfect sense.
Mind you, when I was young, I would not have been able to describe it as such. If you were to have asked me when I was six what such a feeling meant, I would have attributed it to nothing more then imaginative daydreaming. However, as my life progressed, and I neared the end of my teenage years, this feeling became more dominant, more forceful, and I was forced to confront it.
Eventually, after a year or so of continued observation, the ambiguous nature of this feeling began to take defined shape. As I would lay half conscious in bed, words began to form in my mind. Random phrases had begun to be Significant. These phrases were often printed in blurry yellow letters, contrasted with the utter blackness of a pair of closed eyes. These blurry yellow letters floated in an ether of darkness, struggling to present themselves to me coherently. I would often lie there, and put all my mental effort into giving them shape, form, and meaning.
These phrases, I now have no doubt in my mind, were gifts from the Universe. They were seeds of subconscious knowledge that had been presented for my casual observation. The universe, my friends, is only one entity, one soul. For the extraordinarily perceptive, or perhaps otherwise susceptible, there are moments in life where this soul reveals itself to you. These passing feelings of True Understanding are, I believe, the heavenly spun fabric in which every human being finds comfort.
That look you share with a True Friend, such complete understanding in that look! As if you had transcended the boundaries of human frailty harshly imposed upon us by nature, and became part of something, if only for a moment, of much greater significance. That feeling of utter peace when you have found the one person in the world that you were meant to be with, and they have found you too. That single moment when a mutual understanding forms, that exact second when it becomes Known that you are both in Love. Or friends, companions, brothers, in the midst of obscene violence and horror, can share Something in such traumatic experiences that may scarcely be rivaled in profundity by anything else of this world.
These are gifts from the Universe, to be appreciated or not appreciated, that is up to you. For me, these gifts took the form of blurred phrases, projected in yellow font against the back of my closed eyelids in the middle of the night.
Eventually, one such phrase stood above the rest:
"You are pretentious"
And I was tremendously offended!
"Fuck you, Universe!" I would silently mutter. To think, I had spent my life on the verge of receiving universal knowledge, only to be blatantly insulted when the moment came.
The next day, on my walk to work, I was struck by a car.
I can remember, somewhat vaguely, what took place. I was crossing the street during a red light. All the vehicles were stopped, as per usual. However, a man's breaks failed when approaching the intersection. He struck the van ahead of him at 80km an hour, launching it into my path.
I saw it coming in slow motion. For a brief moment, I locked eyes with the woman in the van, both wide with horror as she stomped on the breaks. We shared a moment of understanding then, indeed.
It was not an incredibly exciting death, the way that Hollywood movies portray them to be. I did not fly a tremendous distance, or crash down on anybodies windshield, in a tangled array of limbs and blood. Instead, she merely struck me, and I stumbled sideways a good five feet, as if I were drunk. I tripped, and my head cracked against the concrete divider in the middle of the highway.
There I lay dying, at age 18. A profane pool of blood formed from the wound above my temple, and I remember crying. I was crying in short, soft shudders. Already becoming oblivious to my surroundings, my shoulders shuddered, and shuddered, in between desperate grasps for one last breath of this earth. I just wanted to say goodbye to my family, and my last moment on earth was one of intense fear, horror, and piercing sadness. Surrounded by complete strangers, witnessing my final moments on the cold asphalt of some obscure part of the world, I went into the darkness as unwillingly and cowardly as is possible. The absolutely degrading equivalent of a toddler being dragged, kicking and screaming, into his room for "time-out".
I am not ashamed of this now, in retrospect. I suppose it was a natural enough reaction for a pretentious human being such as myself. However, I think it must have been somewhat hilarious for the people who witnessed such a thing, although they may not have realized it at the time. In fact, they will only view that event in a humorous paradigm once their time is up as well.
All at once, as the darkness enveloped me, and I struggled with all the undignified panic of a small boy clawing at whatever grasp of Reality I could sink my nails into. With my last human thought, just a moment before I gave up and accepted the inevitable, I came to that revelation which had always haunted me, this time with the grace and humbleness that only imminent death can afford.
You see, I was pretentious. I had accepted it. We all were. I had not placed enough emphasis on my life, if that were to describe it.
If you could only see yourselves from my present vantage point!
You are like a collection of wind up dolls. Your greed, your fear, your love, your hate, it winds you up, and sends you clacking along your designated paths. Sometimes you bump into one another, and only the tiniest spark of understanding rings off your metal edges. Sometimes you wander off a cliff, and smash yourself into pieces, as I did. Sometimes you wander for days, and days, and years, without so much as stopping, or noticing another mechanical toy within a hundred miles of you. Always clacking onwards, oblivious to a greater understanding of the over soul that manifests itself in you. The absurdity of human existence is truly a marvel. A human, the ultimate creation, holds within it the capacity to appreciate every aspect of the universe, in every form it presents itself. To imagine that you perceive it in such truly diluted terms is a sin. A leaf, collecting dew and sunshine, appreciates what it has been given to it more then a Man.
And now, as I no longer take the form of a wind up doll, I am dispersed across the vastness of creation. I am that moment of understanding you may share with another wind up doll. A tiny spark that does no justice the depths of warmth and brilliance that I can and have been a part of.
And sometimes, the oasis still presents itself to me, and I can still feel the words form in my consciousness. The same yellow text, wavering as if it were projected onto flowing water.
"You are."
User Reviews
Submitted by shadowdragon (user info) at 2004-03-12 23:54:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 because I used that picture a really long time ago...http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/message_get.cgi?message=1063522335814521764
Submitted by ohlookasquirrel (user info) at 2004-03-12 23:29:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This, and you, are highly underrated.
I love you, K.M.
Submitted by Melany (user info) at 2004-03-12 20:37:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Indeed!
Submitted by Random Joe at 2004-03-12 20:24:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Quite good.
Submitted by IndianOcean (user info) at 2004-03-12 19:47:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
i am beganing to like this dude jwlmar10 .
i hate tom too..
K.M. very good work man.
Submitted by jwlmar10 (user info) at 2004-03-12 18:30:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Shutup Tom, you fucking faggot.
Submitted by Kristen (user info) at 2004-03-12 16:45:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Freaky
Submitted by Kilgore (user info) at 2004-03-12 16:33:05 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
What makes a pool of blood "profane?"
Submitted by rbdweasel (user info) at 2004-03-12 16:28:06 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
I feel bad for rating this because I could not force myself to read these long-winded self-absorbed ramblings in their entirity. So maybe it was better than I thought. Or maybe by finishing it I will have only wasted more of my life. I suppose I'll never know.
Submitted by Tom (user info) at 2004-03-12 16:26:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
And you complain to ME about the abuse of drugs while posting. The end product isn't quite as good as mine, of course, but still worthy of +2.
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2004-03-12 16:21:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
fuck you, freak
Submitted by T.chow (user info) at 2004-03-12 16:19:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow.