I'm listening to: Billy Idol - Eyes Without a Face

Ironically, to encounter the opaque boundaries of consciousness is an unwelcome elucidation. Like a book with sections of pages stapled shut, the mind does a lot of its own stapling behind my back. There's so many important things I've forgotten (to an abnormal degree?) and been more than mildly surprised to recall upon some triggering event.

These lapses in memory begin as sparks falling on the mental fabric, burning holes that gradually grow larger and larger, and the threads that crossover - axes of time and space - come undone as well. In the anarchy that ensues in its stifled sound, it might be attributed to the subconscious getting a little too greedy and territorially aggressive. Would that it could manifest more tangibly, even as a hallucination in the style of House with Amber.

How much can we really believe what we think we remember? Mental checkpoints and distinctions drawn are as volatile as plates composing the Earth's shifting crust; we are never back exactly where we last left off. I might be getting athazagoraphobic. What kind of phobia is the fear thereof?



Les yeux sans visage.