Suicide Ray
I met a guy in a dream last night, yes another dream, I have so many there are almost too many to mention. However, this particular individual stood out; they seemed different than the usual crowd. As far as I could tell they were grieving for their dead wife, and as soon as I awoke, I began to wonder to myself — could they have possibly have been alive? It’s a tricky one, meeting others in dreams like yourself, those struggling to keep going in the material plane. Many heavy sleepers fight with depression, the lucid dreamers who wake each day with heavy hearts, always hoping that tomorrow will be different.
It’s the repetition that gets to me, all the eating and sleeping, walking and talking, cleaning out and cleaning up this flesh of mine, and all the mess it leaves behind. Sometimes it’s just too much to bear, and then I bump into somebody worse off than myself, and it puts things in perspective. I’m not the best person to talk to you if you’re feeling down; at times, my attitude can come across as terrifyingly pragmatic. If truth be told I’d rather lie than tell a fellow human being what to do and why, for if I was in the same position as the poor man in my dreams, I’d surely take my own life and die.
There’s little for me here, asides one woman and a cat, there used to be three, but one got sick, and I suspect the other’s died in some tragic accident. If I were alone, I’d be gone by now; it’s as if the only things keeping me here are guilt and shame, the fear of hurting others, of betraying their love and confidence. Yet this man from my dreams who sat down beside me and showed me photos of their dead wife, who wanted to buy flowers and visit her grave, yet couldn’t understand that he was still asleep. I wish I could’ve told him what to do, but it seemed so surreal at the time, grieving for the dead when all around us they played their parts, strangers pretending that they were still alive.
Amongst them, creeping around me in shadows, were the worst of the worst, I’m something of a traditionalist, I suppose, but I like to call them The Jinn. They hardly bother me these days, they feed on suffering and pain, but they’ve grown tired of my taste, my glib attitude to terror, and my craving for death. It must taint the flavour of the soul somehow, perhaps I’m too bitter for their palette, although not in the way you might think. I have no more grievances, and I hold none against the human race, I pity the fools who follow their masters, the directors and producers of their virtual fate. But I hold no grudge, I expect nothing, and in my heart of hearts, I am convinced that when I die, I’ll feel the same.
There is nobody to blame, life is but a charade, and death makes a mockery of this game of cards, this sport of creatures I still cannot understand, the young and the old, woman and man. For those who obsess about gender and race, remember you are not who you are, your body, your sexuality, your genealogy is not your own, you are neither guilty of past crimes nor can right the wrongs of the future. This is it, this is all there is, and it isn’t very much, nobody here has the right or power to control other lives, yet they try, and they do, under the guise of politics, identity, power, and money. One way or another, some of us fall for the ruse, the games they play, the puppeteers of fate.
Pity those who stay here and can never leave, their obsessions over lifetimes have inspired our societies, our peoples of the ages, to comply with unjust laws, and lie for the sake of commonality. We are all of the same substance, but we come from different times, our masks of flesh and bone are nothing but a disguise. A way to fool the gullible, proof for the unbelievers, the eternal cynics who seek composure through control and compartmentalisation.
If there were anything I could say to the man in my dreams, it would be to look around him and realise that he is asleep. Not just in his bed, but in the waking day, what he sees around, the normality of his life, is nothing but a facade, the scenery of lies. This world was once a playground, a place to explore a greater understanding of the nature of being. Now it’s nothing but a farm selling cannibalised produce to its own herd of domesticated beasts. Those who are in the know mock us with every breath, even their most trusted underlings and advisors have no idea how deep the river runs. The interrupted flow of ideas, the fiat currency of time, the depths of depravity brought on by the corruption of the mind, all bar the way of the least informed.
I hope that stranger who haunts the living, has found peace of some description or at least solace in the fact that they too will die. For this world is filled with creatures drawn by instinct, and commanded by desire. It’s no place for the deeply philosophical to thrive, there are too many of us, and we’re consuming the temporal loop like locusts devour next year’s harvest. One day there’ll be nothing left, and the masses will look for answers, they’ll trust the opinions of learned thinkers, scientists, and experts, who will come up with highly technical excuses, and though they won’t be satisfactory, the naive slaves of our worldwide cabal will take it all for granted.
If you’ve ever wondered why those who seek power tend to gush about humanity, and how much they care, and how government initiatives are for the good of all, making laws to keep you safe. It’s because you’re scared, deep down you’re terrified that this world is ruled by liars and tyrants, inhumane beasts with forked tongues who wish nothing more than to trample over the destiny of billions in order to satisfy their own personal desires. All those at the top despise those at the bottom, and those in-between who take up the banner, are simply opportunists hoping to climb the ladder.
There’s been so much death recently, more suicides than anything, this lockdown has done nothing but reveal the machinations of the powerful, and the foolishness of the dense. The people who wear masks in cars and as they sleep in bed, the dreamers who believe that we can live on like this forever. They will soon see that the corporations have lost all patience with their consumers, they want to feast upon our suffering, decrease our numbers, dash our hopes and dreams of freedom, for we are nothing more to them than a viral infestation.
The Georgia Stones are often cited as an example of what humanity can come to expect, a great cull of the ravenous hordes that spread across all continents, that breed towards extinction, and fester with infection. As far as the financial backers of every global institution are concerned, we are the disease, and they are the cure.
If you’ve made it this far, I commend you, I doubt many have. You are far wiser than all those you know, not that it will help you in the end. I sometimes wonder if I’d never considered life, I might be a happier man. If I hadn’t stared into the abyss, or faced death head-on, this place could seem like paradise, or at least more tolerable than the world in which I’m living. I infect thoughts and minds; I disturb the resonance of submission and coercion, I cause ripples that I cannot cessate, and am deeply drawn to others who do the same. If you too could write from your soul, communicate with myself and others, we could congregate in dreams, and comfort our community of wanderers. The people in-between this world and the next, who pass through walls and invade the psychic circles of power. Disturbing the sleep of those in control, the rich and influential creatures who decide on a whim how our lives must turn out. If all of us together, invaded their dreams, we could see this place come tumbling down, and reveal its true nature.
Be warned, suicide rays are coming, but they don’t make you depressed, if anything, they make you restless, reckless, ready to do anything. That’s trick, that’s how we’re played for fools, we’re given a taste freedom then it’s taken it all away. Sleep now and find a way in, tunnel like a worm, break their spirits, show them who’s boss, and one day we, those whose souls still reside within, and not miles up in the air or deep underground, can come together and betray the spirit of indoctrination and mental slavery. We, the army of the dispossessed, are the greatest enemy the establishment has ever known. For through their canonisation of false cause and effect, they have succumbed to their own traps and pitfalls, and have fallen for their own sham. They, who give the answers to the questions that nobody asked, are quickly learning that without us, they are peasants, ungifted and uneducated in the school of hard knocks.
Don’t give up quite yet; there’s still time to turn this all around, to upend the pyramid of power, invert the black mirror, and purge the spirits of the damned.
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