RE: Am I crazy?
January 9, 2017 at 2:57 am
(This post was last modified: January 9, 2017 at 3:13 am by ApeNotKillApe.)
Had a strange dream last night:
I saw the world. I saw the image of vast ghettoes, miles of flat crumbling ruins, infested with sickly and stupid creatures, all of it prostrated before the neon on the horizon. I knew that world was this, it had always been this. A drawn-out punchline. Cancerous, hollow and vile.
Gangs of the deprived masses waged war in the streets, facist armies slaughtered peoples in droves, worked them to death in camps, pulled them apart with inquisitive surgeries. The world was corruption and slaves and corpses and human experimentation and filth. And then the world was abruptly consumed in nuclear war. The ceaseless desperate urban warfare, the petty vendettas, brought to an indecisive end. A suitable finale. I saw their stupid evils were nothing, child's play compared to the designs of those invisible, omnipresent horrors, those far beyond the reach of mortals, those wretched and invincible creatures whose shadows mark the borders of Hell. As responsible for the starvation as they were for the death squads, for the atrocities and the decay. Those who had built the dysentary skyline, who had razed it. A wall of smouldering blackness clawing its way out of the ocean, fire was everywhere. There was only horror and death. I was afraid when the bombs came, but I knew it was the only mercy. It was the natural ending of things, the conclusion to a tragedy. Hell would be incinerated. Good riddance, I thought. But I was very afraid.
I closed my eyes and hoped to die quickly, I felt for sure that I was dying, vaporizing, but the bombs fell around outside and I remained. I feared the fallout, but there was no sickness. The horrors outside continued, Hell had not been destroyed utterly. But I was seperate from it, isolated for now. One small window on the far wall, outside the sky, a misty dull blue like early morning.
I saw the world. I saw the image of vast ghettoes, miles of flat crumbling ruins, infested with sickly and stupid creatures, all of it prostrated before the neon on the horizon. I knew that world was this, it had always been this. A drawn-out punchline. Cancerous, hollow and vile.
Gangs of the deprived masses waged war in the streets, facist armies slaughtered peoples in droves, worked them to death in camps, pulled them apart with inquisitive surgeries. The world was corruption and slaves and corpses and human experimentation and filth. And then the world was abruptly consumed in nuclear war. The ceaseless desperate urban warfare, the petty vendettas, brought to an indecisive end. A suitable finale. I saw their stupid evils were nothing, child's play compared to the designs of those invisible, omnipresent horrors, those far beyond the reach of mortals, those wretched and invincible creatures whose shadows mark the borders of Hell. As responsible for the starvation as they were for the death squads, for the atrocities and the decay. Those who had built the dysentary skyline, who had razed it. A wall of smouldering blackness clawing its way out of the ocean, fire was everywhere. There was only horror and death. I was afraid when the bombs came, but I knew it was the only mercy. It was the natural ending of things, the conclusion to a tragedy. Hell would be incinerated. Good riddance, I thought. But I was very afraid.
I closed my eyes and hoped to die quickly, I felt for sure that I was dying, vaporizing, but the bombs fell around outside and I remained. I feared the fallout, but there was no sickness. The horrors outside continued, Hell had not been destroyed utterly. But I was seperate from it, isolated for now. One small window on the far wall, outside the sky, a misty dull blue like early morning.
I am John Cena's hip-hop album.
