On Anxiety

It moves in short uninterrupted loops. Bright lights project outward to the crowd waiting below. The only noise is the shuffling of feet, an uncomfortable cough, a whisper, a murmur, a dance spoken above in clouds made of ash and gray. A pinhole cover cast down onto the concrete we can see the blues shift into reds and morph into hands extended beyond the screens into the horizon of green haze above the waves of ever moving white sound crashing brown pier gazing seashell clamoring wasteland. The ever on the go tire screeching, dirt tearing, ground blasting hum resides without the reach of any one sense directing charm. They all push toward the same and always away toward the heart of the beast.

We leave the purple palindromic thuds of salty caverns thrusting up and toward and find ourselves within, peering upward, shapes that rise and never catch or crash, but not wholly parallel, merely supported by weight unseen until the sky is no more, nothing but yellow blue strings of fucking words cast around the walls in echo chambers of I AM I AM NOT the gray shudders at the sound of empty furlings, a cacophony of sighs.

The noise blares an afront to crimson drops, repeated black and not, over and over for each moment, arbitrarily measured from internal grinding clockwork at its own behest until the incessant monster is allayed by swift left and right bright death scorching above meanders slowly one photon at a time upon skin boring an atom at a time heat rising at a time.

Upsidedown brain walks with hands and stretches with feet until the knob is pointed leftward for maximum pain seaweed gasoline spews frothy godknowswhat oh god I am so sorry I am so sorry smashing toe glass door falling into a crumbled mess beneath the endless wave of crushing warmth. Vibrations loose their hold from every internal and internal folds the vibrations into wider oscillations an entire being nothing but a shred of unchewed tuning fork jungles beyond. Swirl swirl and mash. Or so one had hoped. Forest recreated, colors amass, sweltering sand notwithstanding, fall into your clockwise vortex.

Sweating trepidation secretes music into the negative space that surrounds ankles and elbows. The moment lapses. The moment tightens. The moment falls. The moment is passing, now. The moment repeats, lapses, tightens, falls, passing, now, it repeats, tightens, passing, lapses, falls, now, repeats, now, tightens, now, falls, passing, repeats, tightens, it falls, now.

And if one were to ascend, covered eyes and all, one would lift to see shimmering blue, the clank and groan of mechanical giants, the buzz of neuronic tendrils flung every which way. The shapes do rise and never catch, but orthogonal lines perpetrate the notion, pathways never true, gradients of every function, always upward.

by Dan Diehn (@diedan)