Sour Notes: Part 1

Harmonies are the foundation of our existence, or at-least our perception of it. Like musical keys there is a logic that manifests in rhythm and frequency; to deviate chaotically creates a cacophony, or rather insanity. I find myself thinking of the rules that govern the logic of life; or perhaps the logic that dictates the rules that govern our lives. Whatever the case, my terror began with the toxic combination of curiosity and bad psychedelics. I have never made a study of neurology, but I have come to believe that human synapses have a natural interval of position; an order that makes a key of the mind, the harmony of our existence. The structure that makes us perceives reality in just a singular manner.

This order I have destroyed within my mind. I have unleashed the innumerable layers or dimensions of abysses hidden within, and without, of the human experience. I am a walking Ouija board.

It all started with a psychedelic that I will not name, more to protect the reader than the writer. I remember as my soul was being ripped from my body the smearing, smashing, sourness. I left for an eternity wandering through a meta-realm of existence. All experience of every being was as though holographic movies floating in space and time; open to anyone curious enough to step within and experience. In this realm was every answer to every question that could ever be asked. It was an eternal library of Babel, chaos and order coexisting in a way that made a mockery of logic.

When that ephemeral eternity was spent, and I returned to myself, I always came away with grand answers that fleetingly withdrew leaving only the notion that I had known. The questions were not so merciful, they only grew and became louder. I leaned deeper into the drug. Déjà vu became a perpetual part of my waking life. I was sure I had seen everything that had or will happen but could not remember when or where. I started to know with absolute certainty the roll of a dice, but only the moment after they were cast. I was seeing the future, but not in advance enough to do anything with the knowledge but know.

If this was the end of the tale it would be an artifact, a curiosity and little more; but my inquisitiveness got the better of me. I leaned deeper into the drug. I had become a junkie, it was an inconsumable habit. I grew to be able to see further into the many threads of alterable outcome, but at the same time I started to see a deeper and more terrifying truth; humanity were not the primary weavers of that tapestry.

It brings me back to harmony. I believe I had sent myself into this sickly-sweet dimension too often. I had broken the natural harmony of the human mind. I had formed a mental antenna into the incalculable irrational dimensions. The universe too has sour notes. I could see the many abysses and they could see me. I became aware of their awareness in a way that made me believe I had gone mad. I sometimes wish I am mad. I doubt I am, for my level of madness would by necessity be so deep that writing my warning now would not be real. If there is indeed anyone who reads this I am either mad and you are merely a figment of my imagination, or I am not as catatonic as would be required by so severe an insanity.

Specters and shades were what I saw at first, and they had not broken my waking plane. It was in dreams and that infernal Babel that I was first intruded upon. If the multiverse is but a Giant harp I started to see the fingers of the harpist. Ghoulish and grotesque, they were less a vision and more a flavor; caramelized meat and carrion. They gleefully weaved the order of the future to save lives, and just as happily they snuffed it out. Their driving motivation appeared nothing more than the immediate whim, feeding and devouring humanity with open talons and rolling tongues.

I wish I had only seen these hands of the harpist. I wish I hadn’t seen more. I wish they didn’t know I can see them, how pitifully I have become their plaything. I wish I could sleep at night. Perhaps I will tell more but some are growing angry. I can hear the less evil ones knocking around and I must ensure the smoke I smell is only in my head.

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