Projections

I was led down towards the x-ray machine. The neon blue light made me feel obsene. I was shown how things were supposed to be. I learned to discredit my own dreams, and trust the one true reality. After all, who would even believe me? There is a narrow hall, the oblique palling of my conscience, the voices dissipate like spinning plates into the scenery. My pulse pulsates with the rhythm of electricity. I have flown into disarray, the chaotic jigsaw pieces have scattered. I'm not worried about putting them back into order. These phantasmic idealogies, cartoon shadow puppets dancing upon a blank screen. I'm watching the world re-arrange itself. I'm being followed by aliens with lazor beams. I keep slipping into the spaces, unaware that others have been trapped by time. I don't know how to replace it, so I walk with the others over these criss-crossing lies. There is no reason to explain the secrets of existence. They are no longer curious. We are the resistance. It's not a matter of subjective lenses, there can only be a brief glimpse into the unwinding distances. There is no over-ride. I am already inside.