/////////////////////////////////////////////What the fuck was that? Jesus Christ!
I'm so sick of this.
Every time I come back from one of those it takes me a second to realize where I am, what I am. And every time I'm not certain...I find myself wondering, is it better to have come back at all?
Of course anything, even the worst hell, is better than the spaghetti (I have a reason for calling it this), but I always wonder if there is a void lurking out there beyond the spaghetti. I wonder if I could jump into that void and sleep at last. Would he follow me in there? Are there places that rock head is not allowed to go? I doubt it. I'd probably just super piss him off if I found some kind of void and jumped into it.
Anyway, I better keep writing, he's always hovering over my shoulder after he drops me back off, ready to fry my brain if I don't get back to work.
So, fine reader, I guess I'll try to explain the unexplainable to you, again. Let's get to that term I used, you will be unfamiliar with it before and after I explain it, but we must try, now don't we. And so: spaghetti. I call it that so that I don't waste energy trying to represent it, and so you don't rack your mind trying to figured it out. It's better to make it into a joke. For a long time I made up a word, used gibberish, maybe a squiggled line, but I've found it's better to use a familiar word that has nothing to do with anything. It represents the impossibility of representation.
The place...god damn it, I can't even say place. This sucks. I want so back to drop this pen and start exploring again, but rock head would just blast me, maybe even take me back there, make it feel like a million years and really break me down good. No way. I'm definitely going to have to write for a bit, just no getting around it, so I might as well get on with it.
This...spaghetti, it's so comprehensive, so complete, and transcends temporal dimensions to such a great degree, that it can't be conceptualized as being at all, it's something that transcends being to such a degree that it's not even nameable. Hence...spaghetti.
I just got back from spaghetti. I must have been up to no good. I can't remember because rock head fries my mind a bit when he drops me back off here. The specific things will start coming back to me in pieces after awhile, but for now all I know is that I must have been up to no good, venturing into forbidden lands. Rock head grabbed me by the soul and shook me like a rag doll, I can bet on that. Then he took me to spaghetti to show me how bad things can be, to show me how my life here really isn't so bad, and then he fried my brain a bit and dropped me back here.
The thing is, I'm starting to think that he doesn't actually grab me out of spaghetti, doesn't actually take me back here. I'm starting to realize that it is completely my choice once we get to spaghetti. He drops me in there, and then commands me, or maybe that's his boss's voice. I definitely remember the voice commanding me though. There are some things that I'm sure must not come back to my mind after the flying, but that command stands out: /go back/. Fucking rock head. I bet it's him. That's all he's ever said to me. Every single time I've listen to him. I go back every time. A few times I have waited a few extra beats and he will repeat the command again. What I'm piecing together though, mainly from the feeling I get while inside of spaghetti, that awful feeling of...fuck, I'll just call it doom for now so I don't have to explain why I'm calling it a ham sandwich. The doom is why I think that if I wait for a third command, and continue refusing to leave, something happens.
My guts is telling me that if I refuse I'd blast out the other side of spaghetti and cease existing in that far off void I can feel out there in the nothingness. I'll just tell you right now though, in case you think this might be one of those types of stories, I'll never have the balls to do that. I can't even imagine waiting for the third command, let alone disobeying it.
So here I am, again.
I am going crazy. Those powerful gods from the creations myths, I mean the really old ones, they exist, and they are nuts. Best I can tell is that I'm folded into the skin of one of the big two. Everything is in twos of course. The one I am a part of is everything, which I suppose would be the female chaos part. There must be another male part that gives all of you the order you need for your existence, but I don't think I have much to do with that. I'm embedded into the matrix of the everything, and it sucks.
I'm a narrator. I spend my time poking at the nerves of the universe, carelessly seeing if I can hack off a chunk of it to live in, away from all words in complete silence. But some minor god always catches wind of what I'm up to, and rock head is called, and then I'm taken to spaghetti. Afterwards I come back here and tell you stories. This has been going on for a billion years. Now of course I've told you all a few horror stories during this time, but I'm about to blow all of those out of the water. I'm about to tell you about me.