Hunter S. Thompson Might Laugh

. . . and the hits just keep on comin'. Maybe I've entered a wicked twin dimension; a Twilight Zone if you will. But how to get out? Is this like the black box in Head? Or the alternate realities in the men's room? Think back, Self, think back! How did I get into this mess? Is there a way out? Maybe Time--maybe Space--maybe Mindset. What is the key? Where is it? Is there a key at all? Think back! Yes . . . I see it now. A murder, a blast from the past, a hopelessness I've known before, the heat, oh the heat, the sun hovering on a string above our singed heads, the arguing, the violence, the embarrassment, the annoyance, the feeling of one about to break. . . . Where am I now? In the midst of some terrible jungle--no, an ocean: "Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink."--All I want is the desert. How did I get here? Is there a friend to pull me out? There is the fiction, so much fiction all crammed blissfully inside my head, but I can't get it out, it's overflowing--there's no time because I'm trapped and I can't get to a piece of paper fast enough. Forget the paper. I need some quiet. Everywhere I'm surrounded my noise, lights, colors, motions. Get me out of here! Think back, Self, and get your direction straight. There is a compass in your hand. Think back. Of all the humiliations and severed ties and broken bridges, isn't there someone around who can lend a hand? I need to find a method of communication. Morse Code? I've forgotten all I learned of it. A flare would bring someone--I've lost it. A fire! How to make one out of rocks and sticks? Wait. I can wait here till help comes. Help? In what form? Help as a human, help as an animal, help as another state of mind? How long have I been here? I'm losing track of days. Days and nights run into each other and meld into a fuming cantankerous gas. It quells me and puts me to sleep. I have to find the key but thoughts and acts are blurry. . . .