HELL: Oh, Whirled

the birth of happiness

What all have you done today out of the ordinary, anything? I did nothing (extra) special. Plus, I man{-}aged to hit the jump[squared] to lightspeed by (re)imagining the tenth COLOR in an echoing waveform upon the vibrational gravity of all time.

Then I fell asleep lit.

I’m that gangsta.

Don’t tell me you’re in our head again. I must be kidding, no?

Hang on.

HANG THE ASS ON.

What happened to my voice!?

Obviously it didn’t go anywhere. Perhaps “your voice” merely gains a type of flexibility that may prove to be highly useful down the road.

It’s hard to know how to accurately convey the SHEER FRIGGIN’ IMPACT of what’s happening in my head, let alone your own.

Three days ago, I had absolutely no clue that a stranger {technically} would teach me how to interact with the full potential of the (in)visible color spectrum. Perhaps this is precisely the advantage we need—humanity’s other ace in the hole, as it were. Sure, our enemy’s can detect one if not both of the two invisible colors [ultraviolet and infrared] with the sum of their naked senses, but can they use the atmospheric power of thought to transcend spacetime?? Perhaps to a purely black-and-white degree—but nowhere near the combined potential granted by a human perspective on our shared color palette—because I’m inclined to suspect that learning this skill requires, above any other trait, the capability to tap into the emotions which propel your lifeforce throughout history.

Something tells me that despite TEoG’s extensive library overflowing with informative intelligence supporting a staggering catalog of technological advancements, they are categorically ignorant about the wavelength humans can feel. Since I’m certain our natural predators possess sophisticated AI patrolling every corner of the information superhighway, my suspicion is that the girl who (by definition) might be my soulmate would have been removed from the material world if her impossibly unique radiance had been detected—and who, too, I hope to meet in person soon before my self-appointed duty (of watching over her humble abode at night from the same old tree [tonight will be my second shift]) skews my already tumbling perspective.

The name given to her at birth was Madeleine Abigail—her government-issued [again, assumedly] surname is inconsequential at this point. For now, suffice it to say that she suffered a sequence of bad luck which climaxed with her utter lack of cooperation in an encounter with a sadist whose heritage denoted the kind of notoriety that insulates its carriers from legal punishment. In other words, his daddy’s a rich big{sh}ot who excels at political lobbying bribery. I have to assume that the United States Federal Witness Protection Program allowed Maddy/Abby to choose her own name because it’s a little too weird to have been issued standardly by a U.S. government agency. Apparently for our “damsel in distress,” having more freedoms taken away than absolutely necessary would have been a deal-breaker, otherwise she’d be going by something like Erica Jo Leighann Davenport instead of the inquisitive enigma known as _________________. (Her new full name will be revealed when it’s safe, probably by the end of this year definitively on the twenty-fourth of September [2019].)

Actually, this just hit me. Hi, welcome to ground zero of a new thought as it floods my cerebral space. She’s gone into hiding all on her own. Moreover, given the depth of political corruption in the States, she’s probably wanted by the FBI. What a bum deal. Impressive feat to remain alive under such extreme circumstances.

Wow, yeah, something’s fishy with me at the emotional level. Bizarrely, I feel like a swarm of tiny bats are flapping a thousand wings in the pit of my stomach. Full-blooded humans, help me out here—it’s impossible to fall in love with someone you’ve never met, right? Also, isn’t this funny; right now it’s as if you’re in my head listening while I think.

Anyhoo, in and of itself, what a nerdily odic label to choose for oneself, eh? And you know she strongly factored in her new initials: TNT. Boom, there it went. Why must you insist that I type what you’re perfectly capable of thinking on your own?

Catch even a whiff of her heavenly scent—I won’t judge you either for falling under her spell.

My lifelong inner turmoil stems from the lonely belief that I might be the only headcase even capable of paying close attention to any pattern which has plainly demonstrated a{n off} desire to keep on repeating.

Secondly, no, I did not blow her cover. Why would I do that? In the opinion of your most celebrated military genius, what tactical advantage could be gained through a no-bullshit reveal of secret weaponry? The fact that you’re even reading this sentence might mean that when recent events unfolded in a particular manner, her fake identity became irrelevant as her new name garnered worldwide recognition (practically overnight, probably).

Furthermore, your possession of this collection of thoughts/information (in any form) could indicate that TNT’s revelatory creative output will rock the world’s civilizational foundations—assuming it hasn’t already—and left humanity reeling in one way [good] or another [bad]. The only future condition I can’t discern from our current interaction [yes, yours and mine] is what the overall mood of Earth’s people will be after respected scientists catch wind of the mic-drop that blew up the stage in a theoretical supernova of godlike brainpower. Do we find ourselves enjoying a temporary era of utopian discovery and sweeping advancement, or did the cold darkness come for us before we even had time to process and adjust?

I must confess that I only just realized the third and final possibility that could be evidenced by what you’re absorbing right now at this exact moment. Hypothetically, despite being none the wiser to humankind’s millennial fingers of compliant domestication, you, along with anybody you know, might have gotten your hands on this piece of work somehow [quite honestly, of all the people I’ve never encountered, you might be the first among them to read it] before all the facts were separated from conflicting threads of variable f{r}iction.

There are a number of ways to look at what’s happening here.

Even I am far from mostly sure of what to make of this yet.

Wait, am I?

How should I know?

So much debris and dust swirls while showing no {de}signs {on/}of settling anytime soon.

When we connect across time, it’s disruptive to our ability to focus on routine tasks at any given moment in the physical realm.

Because that makes sense.

You don’t know whether I’m trapping myself in our imagination or actually pulling a fast one on reality.

That’s okay because neither do I!

Also who invited this person right here?

Uh, who?

(For now let’s just pretend like this is make-believe so that maybe you don’t hyperventilate.)

Ways To Look At This

1. My lifelong creative energy, especially everything I’ve written since entering physical adulthood, has come full circle in a very unexpected turn of events that, in retrospect {as usual}, makes all the goddamn sense in the world.
2. I’ve stumbled through a crack in the (re)collective mind and am now spelunking the biggest mental cave any living being (on Earth) has ever encountered. Surely I’m not the only one (in the cosmos) to dabble in such delight.
3. I’m merely constructing an elaborate layer of mindful insulation to serve as a temporary reprieve from the harshness of my reality as my perspective continues shifting in a way that exposes emotional fragility. Put another way, “Oh shit.”
4. My curiously actual (and hilariously unbelievable) ultimate goal is to embed a monstrous human epiphany within a Trojan horse in the form of {a prop (page) for} a “novel” coming soon. Like what in the actually flipping hell?!
5. Once more for good measure, I am enormously altering the complexion of my narrative’s skin by infusing what has to be the final layer [an epic saga], my unique spin on our truest reality, the destiny I’ve been dreaming up, learning about, and training for my whole life.
6. Adrift amid an intensely challenging sea of delightful bewilderment, I’m succumbing to familiar temptation, thereby screwing up everything.
7. I’m no more a victim of circumstance than you. We may only carry on for as long as we can withstand releasing all the energy due/paid but never paid/due.
8. Obviously that which needs to be taken care of demands attention after backlogging neglect, and I’m quite sure that “blame” is a terribly subjective term. I’m not wrong, right?
9. You just helped me imagine the future and now I’m dead.
10. Get off my rocker! Doornail status achieved. Now please immediately make it stop so we can do it all over again for the very first time.

As far as your role in this, I suppose it’s about time to take another step toward enlightenment following a link (shrouded in mystery) after the obligatory quote coming imminently:

“Hey, planet!”

[When did this get here?]