evolving story

Part 01

He had lived in his memory too long; it was darkening. Each day every scarce mosaic image he retained mislaid a pixel and all echo’s whether speech or purely energetic sounds began to resemble his own voice. His mind was becoming symbolic fallacies and comparative facts; there was no longer any confirmation that his reminiscences had ever really happened. Personal experience could have been some daydream from years or even hours ago that had been rehearsed into his reality. Regretfully he knew that any certifying memories people once might have held of him had been omitted from theirs and consequently his existence.

He probably had already lost his identity in relation to the outside world and only his heartbeat gave him any sense of station. Where he had sat malingering for so long had composed a brain that was frustrated of thinking without product. There was so much conjecture inside of his cranium that he he would jabber to himself to expel his thoughts, to give them a new physic so they were able to die and leave his mind free and user-friendly. If any language was left to process it wasn’t easily erased; a lobotomy could only possibly remove what growth had begun between conceptual tissues. To think his very self, all that he was and would ever be was a humid mass of propagating meat. This latter addition he was content in keeping.

His noojeny was irrepressible it gave him bruising migraines in his frontal cortex. He would at times be set into a gaze in front of the television set, flicking from channel to channel without hitting any visuals just a series of blank spaces that precede the signals decoding, so to capture his attention and restrain him from slipping into implications. His grey matter felt like a great cancer that would carry on growing long after his death still looking for answers. Sometimes he felt that he was making his learning juxtapose and his present malform, a process of autophagy, as the more he inferred with his already contingent and indefinable database the more convoluted and arcane he became, the less he knew to be true. As he tried defining his thoughts he could only define the words he used with other words, a conceptual dead end, where was reality. Sense memories, pictures, sounds, scent, touch, were all kept and associated to predict his future behavior, quite simply a means of survival.

his deformed past pervaded his every thought and so the future could only ever be undernourished. the only potential reality was immediately now... and that was already over.