Hypnagogic reality

Sometimes life is really just one massive hypnagogic state. Seriously. Like, yeah, you know. It is! I’m telling!

But really, I often wonder what would happen if I really DID finally close off of the brain->mouth filter? What would people think? Would I be locked up for thinking the things that you all think but are too chicken-shit to say out loud?

Like that look from the person across the conference room table. You just KNOW he’s totally freaked out by your black fingernails. What I want to do is play the part he sees in me (but has totally misread) and go over and maybe fondle his testicles. Because then he’d just drop a 10lb turd in his shorts and THAT, mein freund, would just make my inner self giggle like a schoolgirl.

Then there are other times when I wish I could just bare it all. I had a quick lunch at McDonalds yesterday, for example. The lady behind the counter was a particularly beefy, front-butted Mexican abomination that actually said, “yer fries, they coming.” I wanted to bust out in a cackle of insanity, to reach over and grab her goddamned stupid McDonalds kerchief and strangle her illegal ass with it. All the while laughing hideously, of course. Of course!

Then there are the immature moments that I relish internally. Today, our system was down when we were trying to do something at work (as a team in a conference room). Everyone kept talking about how their systems were freezing up, though they kept saying, “I’m hung – hey, are you hung?” I visualized milk streaming forth from my nostrils as these innocent people were going on and on about how hung they were. Holy crap, that shit was funny, and it was completely lost on them.

Shut up, Beavis, before I kick your ass!

I often get songs stuck in my head and I like to see how they fit into my every day consciousness, flightless birds stuck on my island of Steve and afraid to leave, lest the seals eat them for lunch. Today has been 2 Tool songs, Stinkfist and ’46 and 2.’ Awesome songs. Stinkfist is a song I’d like to play out loud because, on the surface, it’s a song about fisting someone’s ass. That’s mildly amusing in itself and would freak out the people with no more than 2cm of depth to them. But the song is REALLY about how Maynard is so damned DONE with everything fake and how he’s so desensitized to the world that the only thing he can do to actually FEEL again is to have someone jam their fist up his nasty cornhole until they’re buried to the shoulder. This is better than not being able to feel anything at all in our uber-commercialized world.

And I sometimes feel the same way. The constant thrum-thrum of everyday doldrums drive me to want to bash my fucking head against the wall even as I’m having a seemingly normal conversation with someone I actually like. Because I’m laughing at myself on the inside and I’m laughing at them and I have to play the game, I have to revert. I have to desensitize.

I have to pretend it’s all a hypnagogic state and I’m okay with it. Really, Dorothy, just click your heels together and repeat it and everything will be okay. “You were there, and you, and you, and you! And remember when Toto licked my snatch?! Damn, that dog’s a wonder.”