Dark Film Review: Apocryphal

Review by Casey Douglass

The way that a message is delivered is crucial to whether we believe it or not. We live in a time when ideas and perspectives are rejected not on the basis of their worth, but on the basis of who said them or dared put them forward. Apocryphal is a new short horror film from Josh Armstrong, one that deals with issues of mental health, drug addiction and marginalisation, depicting what happens when they rub up against extraordinary circumstances and consensus reality.

Apocryphal centres around three friends living on the fringes of society whilst trying to score their next drug fix. The film shifts through time between Oliver (Michael Southgate) trying to convince two detectives about a strange event that he witnessed, and the viewer being shown how said events unfolded. Oliver tries to plot a course through his life, attempting to get a job and to find a way to pay the rent, but the spectre of his addiction looms large. Oliver sometimes sees things that aren’t there, and the only friends who understand him or make time for him seem to be the two people that will keep him mired in the life that he is living.

The “event” in Apocryphal, the thing that causes Oliver to end up being interviewed by the police, is portrayed very well. I won’t spoil it, but it’s creepy, sci-fi and believably filmed. I particularly appreciated the lighting effects. The element that I most enjoyed however, was the questions that the film insinuates in the viewer’s mind, especially with regards to what is real and what Oliver thinks is real. My favourite moment is when the realities seem to bleed into each other, with Oliver seemingly saved by something that I believe was only “real” to him, if that makes sense. I didn’t expect such a lovely blend of reality twisting, and it was a nice surprise.

Apocryphal deals with themes of suffering, addiction, escape and loss, in a way that I felt was layered and nuanced, which was a fantastic thing to see. The opening voice-over says that the thing we all have in common is that we suffer, and that is definitely true. When it comes to my own mental and physical health problems and my urge to escape, I’ve never tried illegal drugs, but I’ve never had access to them either, so who can say how my life might have turned out if I had. When the world turns its back on you, when all the places that you can go to for “help” say that they can’t do anything for you, or worse, mistreat or disbelieve you, I can totally understand why drugs as a way to cope or escape becomes so alluring. Yet even knowing this, I can honestly say that if I knew someone was on drugs, and they told me that they’d seen something similar to what Oliver witnesses, I’d more than likely not believe them either, which is a prickly thought, but one worth being aware of.

Apocryphal was the subject of a successful Kickstarter project, so it’s great to see how a project can go from tentative beginnings to emerging into the world. The film is now being submitted to the film festival circuit, so I can’t give any idea about when and where you can see it just yet. I will embed the trailer below however. Apocryphal is dedicated to the memory of a friend of the director who passed away due to drug addiction, with any profits that the director personally makes going to the mental health charity Mind UK.

***

Film Title: Apocryphal

Themes: Mental Health, Drugs, Addiction, Horror

Director: Josh Armstrong

Main Cast: Michael Southgate, Emily Tucker, Alex Arnold, Kaysha Woollery, Sam Terry.

Music: Reg Length

Distributor: Last Dog Films

Book Review: "You're Crazy" Volume Two - First-Hand Accounts of Surviving Trauma, Addiction & Mental Health from within the Punk Rock Scene

Review By Casey Douglass

To someone who hasn’t been through it, the notion of “getting help” when you are struggling with life, is often floated in much the same way as getting your car fixed, or cleaning out the closet. Just do it and you’ll be okay. The people who think that getting help is all that you need to do tend to emerge on social media when certain awareness days roll around, signalling their “virtue” and “compassion” by displaying their paper-thin understanding. Yuck. “You're Crazy" Volume Two - First-Hand Accounts of Surviving Trauma, Addiction & Mental Health from within the Punk Rock Scene is a collection of experiences from people who have been through some heavy shit, whose understanding is cement-thick, and who candidly open up about their attempts to get help, to live each day, and to find a reason to keep on living.

"You're Crazy" Volume Two is edited by Craig Lewis, who is also no stranger to how fucked up things can get. In his introduction, he recounts some of his own story, about how he was falsely diagnosed and medicalized, and how he had to fight to see through the gaslighting that he’d been subjected to. People tend to have a lofty view of the medical system, how wonderful it is and how saintly the people who work inside it are. Sure, some wonderful people DO work in the medical field and in other support authorities, but like any profession, there are also lots of arseholes too. When something has failed to help you in the way that most sensible people would think that it should, “get help” soon becomes another stick that an overwhelmed mind beats itself with. Sometimes there is just nowhere to turn to get that help, so you have to make do with what is at hand.

When life feels unbearable, it’s little wonder that people will do almost anything to ease their pain, whatever the original trauma, event or trigger. Drinking until you can forget, taking drugs, self-harm, relentless self-hatred, fantasizing about suicide and maybe even attempting it, all become outlets for releasing the pressure and numbing the pain. Some people in this book managed to get some kind of outside help, others were let down or weren’t in a position to even seek it. Many of the experiences in this book tell of people who’ve lost their hope, their dreams and their enjoyments, besides their numbing substance or behaviour of choice. That is, except for punk music. A common thread between the contributors is how the punk attitude and the punk scene itself, offered their lives something that they just hadn’t found elsewhere. Acceptance, non-judgement, a way to vent through their love of the music. It’s hard not to view it as a double-edged sword however, as certain elements of the scene amplified and eased some of the writers’ access to the substances and behaviours that continued to drag them down.

“Punk rock saved my life. I surely would have killed myself if I hadn’t found this music and lifestyle,” is a quote from near the end of the very first contribution, written by Christoffer. It’s also a sentiment that appears again and again as you read the others contained in the book. However dark the tale and however much the writer is still suffering to this day, the punk scene and its music is credited again and again for having an overall positive effect on the listener’s life. While I myself am not really into punk, I know that a lot of the vibe spills over into the heavy metal that I enjoy. I also can empathise with the feeling of “finding your thing” as I feel much the same way about dark ambient music and the way that it tends to envelop my mind when I need it to. When life seems hard to bear, which is most days, having that outlet is priceless.

“You're Crazy" Volume Two - First-Hand Accounts of Surviving Trauma, Addiction & Mental Health from within the Punk Rock Scene is not an easy read, as you might imagine, but it’s a worthwhile one. If you’ve struggled with mental health, trauma or addiction, you will find some kindred souls here, and if you’re a punk lover, you’ll especially appreciate the playlist tips and stories of how certain bands transformed someone’s life. If you don’t really fall into either of these camps but are open to reading a book of experiences that is raw and unsanitized, you should also check it out. There is also some really cool artwork to enjoy at the end of each chapter.

I was given access to a review copy of this book.

Book Title: "You're Crazy" Volume Two - First-Hand Accounts of Surviving Trauma, Addiction & Mental Health from within the Punk Rock Scene

Editor: Craig Lewis

Publisher: Better Days Recovery Press

ISBN: 9781716249372

Price: $16.89 / £15.99 (paperback)

Dark Article - Hoarding for the Gaming Apocalypse?

My Friday Feature Hoarding for the Gaming Apocalypse? is now up on Geek Syndicate here. A look at the possible reasons why gamers might buy games and then never get around to playing them. I also suggest a way to avoid that situation in the first place.

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Dark Fiction - Burn

Burn

By Casey Douglass

as part of #fridayflash 

My insides hurt. Worse than that time I swallowed a measure of Dad’s best whisky when I was four. I got such a hidin’ for that. He turned his back for half a minute to do somethin’ at the kitchen table, an’ I walk in in my little red dungarees, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink.

I remember the sunlight shinin’ through the dusty window. It was that late arternoon light that washes everythin’ and makes it look real pretty. It shon on the shot glass, the golden light hittin’ the already magic lookin’ liquid. I think my young mind just knew it was somethin’ grand. Why would it glow like that? I snatched it from the table and gulped it right down. God did it burn!

Dad turned around when the coughin’ started and swore at me when the glass exploded on the tiled kitchen floor. I don’t know what bothered ’im more. The mess, the sick little kid, the wasted whisky. Could ’ave bin all three. Could ’ave bin somethin’ else entirely. Three days my tummy ache lasted. All I could manage was bread an’ milk. I remember bein’ most upset by not bein’ able to eat my sweets. The shop down the road sold chewy jelly worms that always fascinated me. You could bite’em in half, stretch’em, suck on ‘em. You name it, I tried it. Always my favourite. I couldn’t do that now, stretch’em and whatnot. Not with my teeth. I’d swap this tummy ache for that one any day though. Now all I’ve next to me is a small plastic cup thing with thick green liquid inside. The sun is shinin’ on it now, but it ain’t golden. Still burns goin’ down though.

--THE END--

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Dark Fiction - By Proxy

By Proxy

By Casey Douglass

Bent over lower than needed to avoid banging his head, he scrabbled around trying to coax the four large collapsible boxes into a shape that was conducive to being wedged under one arm. Finally corralling them together and shoving them into his armpit, he slammed the car-boot down harder than he would have liked and dashed for sanctuary through the rain, the blip of the car alarm system enough surety that the car would still be there when he returned.

He dashed up the steps, his feet sliding on the dark mossy concrete, but he trusted to his own momentum to see him safely to the top. The large black door at the summit swung open as he approached, a wrinkled face peering out at the lashing rain, its mouth falling open as it saw the hurtling shape coming towards it. The door was wrenched fully open and Bradley gratefully stumbled inside, the boxes finally slipping from his underarm and shooting over the polished parquet floor like a strange poker hand being dealt to a giant. He bent over and panted, the sound of the inclement weather finally muffled as the door snapped shut behind him. He turned to thank his saviour but before he could speak a mottled hand was thrust into his.

‘Christ mate, you’re optimistic!’

‘I’m an all or nothing kind of guy I guess,’ Bradley smiled as he shook hand. ‘I’m Bradley Joiner, I’m here to empty my dad’s flat.’

‘Oh yeah I reckoned that, what with the boxes and all. I’m Arthur White, I live...lived next door to your dad. You got a key?’

Bradley patted himself down and felt the slight clinking in his left jacket pocket. ‘Yes the police gave it to me after I identified the body.’

Arthur grimaced and put his hand on Bradley’s shoulder. ‘It must be hard.’

Bradley shook his head. ‘Not really. We didn’t get on or have much in common. He was a bit like a stranger to me. That might sound cold but it’s just how it is.’

‘No not at all mate. Families can be overrated at the best of times. They are fine when they all get along but when they don’t they can be worse than enemies. I got a brother I don’t speak to so you are peaching to the choir...squire!’ Arthur’s face wrinkled as he erupted in laughter.

‘Well, it was nice to meet you Mr White, but I really should get on.’

Arthur snorted as he tried to subdue his own amusement. ‘You’ll need more than those few boxes.’

‘Oh I don’t doubt it. Its just a preliminary blitz through at the moment, the rest can be sorted through next week when I can get the time off work.’

‘Even so...’

‘What?’

‘You’ll see. Anyway, follow me, I’ll take you to the door.’

Bradley stooped and retrieved the rain spotted cardboard from the floor before looking up and seeing the back of Arthur vanish around a bend at the top of the stairs. Swearing under his breath he jogged up the stairs, wondering why he had the luck of having the sprightliest old man in London as his guide.

‘Are you coming?’ the voice wafted around the corner.

‘Yes yes I’m coming,’ and in a softer voice, ‘you spry old coot.’

Gaining the landing, he turned right and saw Arthur leaning out of a doorway and pointing to the next one along. ‘It’s that one! Good luck!’

The old head disappeared and the door closed with a sharp crack. Bradley traipsed slowly along the hallway, the air full of the smell of rain from the small window that was open a crack at the very end. Reaching the indicated door, he fumbled for the key and unlocked the shiny black wooden door. He stared up at the large number seventeen artfully placed two thirds of the way up, the bottom tip of the number one starting to rust slightly. He hesitated before he opened it, his right hand trembling a little. He pressed his hand to the door, the cold wood making his palm go cold and tingly.

He breathed out and pushed. The door gently and easily started to swing open before suddenly stopping with a dull thump. Bradley pushed hard against it but the door was blocked from the other side. He dropped his boxes once more and pushed his head through the gap in the open doorway.

‘Holy shit!’

He heard muffled laughter through the wall to his left. The old coot no doubt. He shook his head as he surveyed the scene. Books everywhere! Tall piles stacked from floor to ceiling, lining the hallway of the small flat. Looking down, he saw that a couple of piles had toppled over, probably after the police had left as he couldn’t imagine they could have removed the body otherwise. He strained against the door but was unable to get it to budge. Muttering, he squeezed himself into the gap and slowly pushed his way through. Once on the other side he kicked the blockage away, he certainly wasn’t going to be squeezing through twice.

He turned again and just stood and stared, his chest feeling tight with a feeling that mirrored the constrictive space in the hallway. Slowly, he walked forward, his eyes half roaming over the book spines, those at least, that were angled the right way. Travel books, self-help, history, cooking, religion, it was all there. He smiled and ran a finger along some of the stacks, excitement tickling his stomach. He sighed happily,‘So many books!’

He eased one out of the pile to his right and flicked through it eagerly, the ins and outs of psychology laid bare. He extricated another from further down, the process of hypnosis explained in laymen’s terms! He set them on the floor and carried on, cherry-picking the ones that excited him and made him want to sit and read them on the spot. His teachers had always joked that he was the true definition of a bookworm, and he certainly felt at home in this tunnel of paper. He remembered sitting on the floor of his first bedsit, a blanket around his shoulders and the wind blowing through the ill fitted window. Aslong as he had a book in his hand, he didn’t mind one little bit.

He heard a faint chime from a clock, either deeper in the flat or next door’s, and checking his watch found that almost half an hour had passed. He tutted as his eyes finished sliding down one last pile and briskly walked on. He reached the first opening to another room and sheepishly looked inside. It was a bedroom, the bed giving testament to that. Around it on almost every side, simply books books and more books. He reached another room. Books. Floor to ceiling. He wondered how the floors could take the weight? The deeper he moved into the flat, the more the smell of the ageing paper got into his nose. He didn’t mind the smell, but such a quantity was making his nose tickle. He reached another room and let out a small grunt and smiled. The kitchen was free of books and remarkably clean. ‘Just when I thought I had you sussed old man.’

The final room was the dark lounge. Bradley walked in slowly, the smell of books mingling with something else, something more clinical. He moved slowly to the large heavy curtains and opened them fully, letting the meagre light of the day intrude into the dim room. The books in this room looked newer, their paper white and crisp rather than yellow and flaking. Neat stacks dotted the room, culminating around the plush easy chair that had its back to the large window. It put him in mind of a city of small skyscrapers ruled over by whoever sat in the chair. Dad’s world.

His eyes settled briefly on the missing seat cushion that made the chair look barren and emptier than it should. The police said that they had taken it away as it was contaminated. They had found him sitting there, a half open book clenched in his arthritic hand, his reading glasses still pinched tightly to his nose.

Bradley leant forward and put his hands on the back of the chair, partly to steady himself, partly to reassure himself of the reality of what had happened. That last book that his dad had held was still open to the left of the chair. Bradley stooped and picked it up, curious about what it was that his dad had been reading. “Animal Husbandry for fun and profit.”

Bile shot up the back of his throat as he looked around the room once more. He’d known this. He had been there. All that effort when he had left the bedsit, to throw out and give away his old books, the hooks that they had in his mind so hard to sever. He knew it was the right thing to do then, he felt more free, less weighed down by the next book to read, and exposed, unable to hide from the experiences and seek sollace in mere theory. It had almost got him again! His mind chafed at how it had failed to remember that a few moments ago while he had stood worshipping at the stacks of his former Gods. Bradley threw the book across the room and thumped the back of the chair with his fist.

‘You fucking coward! You filled your flat with books about everything under the sun and never put any of it into practice. Animal husbandry? How the fuck would you have done that!’

Bradley marched out of the room, unsure at who his speech was really directed. His face felt hot and itchy, like ants running across his cheeks. He stormed allong the hallway, kicking the neat pile of books he had made as he passed it. He heard the thump of another pile of books crash down behind him but didn’t turn around. Slamming the flat door behind him, he strode to the end window on the landing, feeling the fresh breeze from outside on his face. Tears stung at the edge of his eyes.

‘Allot of books.’

He turned and scowled at Arthur who had appeared in his periphery.

‘You could say that.’

‘He was a nice man...from what I knew of him.’

‘I don’t imagine that was much.’

‘He kept to himself to be sure, but was always willing to take in parcels, or help out if asked. He never did no one any harm, as far as I know.’

Bradley sighed. ‘That’s probably why we didn’t get on. He was nice, he was helpful, but he expected life to just give him what he wanted. He was a dreamer. Like me. I moved on though.’

Arthur nodded sagely.

Bradley pointed back at the flat door. ‘Those books in there aren’t just books, they are his dreams, dreams that he trifled with and then shelved, moving onto the next flight of fantasy, never getting anywhere,’ Bradley said, a shiver running through him.

‘There is more to life than achievement though.’

‘Yes of course, there is the social side, community, taking part in the world, but none of that applies here. He holed himself up against life like someone stockpiling for the end of the world, more content to live in his thoughts than put in any effort.’

Arthur shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to tell you. You probably knew him better than I did. All I’ll say is there are worse things in life than to live how your dad lived.’

The two of them stood and looked past each other for a long moment, neither moving or making eye contact. Finally, Arthur smiled and said, ‘Cuppa?’

‘No, thank you though. I think I’m done for now.’ Bradley offered Arthur the key. ‘You like books?
Help yourself. I don’t need them...,’ he said as he walked away, the hard soles of his shoes squeaking on the polished floor, ‘...any more.’

THE END

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Horror Fiction - Abyss

Abyss

By Casey Douglass

..When you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you. - Friedrich Nietzsche

8th February 2011 : 6:21pm

I’ve started this blog/diary as Mick suggested it might help with my insomnia. He said getting your thoughts and fears down can really help relax your mind, and after googling it to see if he was pulling my leg, here I am. The How-To pages say to start with a description of myself, which seems a little odd, although might come in handy one day. You never know, civilization could end, and thousands of years later some new race might emerge, find my diary and think “This Eugene guy was clearly a king among men, we’d better bring him back to life!” Oh, I suppose I’ve started my introduction without meaning to. Maybe there is something I need to get down if this is so easy. As you probably guessed, my name is Eu

9^th February 2011 : 01:16am

Fucking computer! Bloody thing blue screened on me then wouldn’t boot. Three attempts to reinstall Windows and its still buggy, think the hard drive is on the way out, S.M.A.R.T was giving some failure codes, but not each time. Will have to “acquire” one from work.

10^th February 2011 : 7:02pm

Finally got my computer sorted, and had some luck, found a nice quick 10,000rpm drive at work that had been “forgotten” about.

So as I was saying, my name is Eugene, I’m 36, male, and live just outside London in a crummy flat with tossers living all around me. I added that last bit as without it, this just sounds like a sad dating profile waiting to be spammed to dating websites in the hope some pretty girl might see it and think “ooh he sounds nice, he’d get it!”

Hmm. Is it too late to delete that tossers bit now? The guides say not to censor yourself so I’ll leave it in I think. If you couldn’t already guess, I work in the I.T department of a fairly large company. It might sound glamorous but it really isn’t. It’s the sort of company that has a budget for I.T about the same size as the tea and biscuit kitty, so I often find myself working alone against the odds.

They treat me like a troll. I’m overworked, under valued and still expected to perform tech miracles, even if the problem is pebkac (problem exists between keyboard and chair). My social life is nil, my interests are playing games, tinkering with gadgets and going to the cinema. I haven’t slept for six days now, oh and I fucking hate my life!

11^th February 2011 : 8:12am

Took a day off writing yesterday as I was getting annoyed as I wrote, seemed a big waste of time. I saw Mick at lunch though and he said it was a good sign, I was making progress if I was getting worked up. Mick is the typical janitor stereotype that Hollywood loves. Outwardly he mops floors and smells like urinal cakes, but anyone who knows him finds he is probably the smartest guy in the building, a big reader, philosopher and all-round nice guy who just likes a menial job. I think he had some kind of breakdown a few years ago and just decided life wasn’t worth living if you made yourself ill with stress. Oh, and he's a bit of a porno freak, if you tell him what you like, he emails you a list of about fifty links by the end of the working day. He's like the Columbo of porn, if it’s out there, he’ll find it. Sometimes he enjoys telling you how he found it and what tricks he used along the way. Interesting but usually long winded. But as I said, an all round good guy.

Mick is probably my only friend, which is both sad and probably telling about the kind of person I am. I guess I gravitate to loners and other down trodden individuals. Saying that, there is a lovely girl on the executive floor, Suzy, a secretary to Mr. Jones, but she doesn’t know I exist. What would I say to her if I saw her? “Hi, fancy going out with me?” “Who are you?” “I fixed your computer once” “Oh...” Nightmare. I look into my mirror and see an ugly nerdy looking bloke with fat cheeks, pale skin and a permanently pained expression which I cant seem to shift (really, I found a book about building up your face muscles and getting them to settle into a new expression, but all it did was make me look like I'd sat on a drawing pin for a few days. Mick called me Pob, after the 80's kids TV character. He found it hilarious.) That’s enough for today. Actually, fuck this in general.

14^th February 2011 : 4:15pm

Still not sleeping so I’m back again. What else can I do? I spent most of last night watching the horror channel. I know that sounds weird but it used to send me to sleep easily, if I had the volume turned low enough. I’ve always liked horror, and films I’ve seen a few times in a row just become relaxation to me. Left work early, nothing needed doing, so thought Id slip out. No one would have noticed anyway.

15^th February 2011 : 9:01am

They fucking noticed! Whole network went down at 4:30pm. Got a written warning this time. I’m starting to not care any more. I briefly envisaged roaming the hallways dual wielding two Uzi’s, striking a blow for all geeks everywhere (has an I.T guy ever gone postal?) but thought better of it, two Uzi’s would be a total arsehole to find...and I’m no killer.

16^th February 2011: 12:15pm

Saw Suzy today. I got a phone call that her PC wasn’t working, so after thanking my lucky stars I rushed up to Jones' office. She stood near the window looking down on London, the sunlight highlighting her figure against the blinds. I said I was from the I.T department and asked her what was wrong with it. She told me it wouldn’t boot, it just kept beeping. I sat in her chair, it was still warm so she hadn’t been standing long. I enjoyed the brief contact, even if it was just a fantasy linking me and her via the chair.

The PC problem was nothing major, a failed update that had caused a booting loop, not her fault at all. I wouldn’t have been annoyed if it had been her fault, she could stamp on my heart and Id forgive her. Every other twat in the building was another story. You could give them a pristine PC, secure and running 100% smoothly, and within 20 minutes you’d have to wrestle it from them and take it outside to burn before it infected the whole building. How they find the virii and trojans they do is a mystery to me. Some I haven’t even seen for a decade, and would be hard to infect my own computer with, even trying to intentionally. Morons, the lot of them. Except her.

While I sat at her PC, my eyes went blurry, the lack of sleep started to drag me under again. I was surprised, she asked if I was OK! I looked at her open mouthed before saying I hadn’t been sleeping. She said “Aww” and I felt my heart leap. I thought fuck it and I asked her out. She was silent for 7 seconds (I counted, it kept me from passing out) before she said I wasn’t her type, she liked manly men. I just nodded like a toy you see in the rear window of a car and told her the PC was fixed. As I left her office, I texted Mick.

17^th February 2011 : 8:02am

Just emailed Mick to thank him for the list, the guy is a pervy genius. Still didn’t sleep though. I’m not going in today, called the human resources lady, a nice old dear on the outside but a total bitch on the inside, and told her I had a virus. She laughed and said how ironic! These people.

2:12pm

Daytime TV...Jesus Christ! How I am still awake I can’t imagine.

4:20pm

Been surfing the net. You find some daft websites when you are sleep deprived. I spent ten minutes thinking the teletubbies had caught something nasty making their skin go funny with white blotches, but turned out I was on the jelly baby website. Id laugh if I had the energy. I’m sticking to tech forums now, it seems to be the only area I can still think properly in. Maybe it's habit or just over familiaryness I don’t know. Familiaryness? Fuck me.

8:01pm

Got something stuck in my mind now. Think it’s the fatigue but anyway, it’s there churning around now. I was on a tech site and someone was asking about dusting inside the PC. Some nerd who thought he was being funny warned him about not looking inside, lest the PC look into you. It set me thinking as it sounded familiar. A few mins later I found out what it was. He’d bastardized the classic Nietzsche quote “..when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.” Why it’s stuck in my head I don’t know. I can remember liking that quote before when I first came across it, sounded creepy. Don’t know what an abyss would see if it looked into me, it would probably need somewhere to go where it could lay on a couch and tell a psychologist about how terrible it was, and it didn’t think the saying “when you gaze long into a nerd the nerd also gazes into you” meant anything until that day, and how it suddenly had a strange craving for Chinese food and something called World of Warcraft.

18^th February 2011 : 6:01am

I slept! Absolutely smashing! The dark rings around my eyes are fainter today and I don’t feel so spaced out. Maybe a day off was what I needed. Think I’ll bunk off again today and it’s the weekend tomorrow, I need to catch up on some more sleep.

19^th February 2011 : 11:30am

And again! Another good sleep and it felt so good to wake up feeling relaxed for a change. That abyss thing is still on my mind. I can tell because I dreamt about it. I was on some big farm, harvested corn fields stretching every direction and a typical American style barn and farmhouse. A farmer in a straw hat stood at the door of the barn and I walked over and asked where the abyss was. I’ve no idea why, but he took me to the rear of the barn and pointed at a dark hole in the ground about the size of a dinner plate. I looked at him and he nodded. I could see the bottom of the hole, it wasn’t very deep. I remember feeling disappointed and then I woke up. Why was I looking for an abyss?

21^st February 2011 : 4:37pm

Work was OK today, nothing really happened, no disasters anyway. Mick asked how the diary was going, I said I'd managed to sleep and he was happy for me. I did mention the abyss stuff and he laughed, but said maybe my mind was using it to help me heal psychologically. I asked him to heal what? He just shrugged and said who knows how the mind works and why it does what it does. He suggested that maybe I'd lost my purpose in life and my mind was showing me that I needed one to drive myself. We spoke a little about what looking into an abyss might be like and he said probably very boring, it would just be a big space with nothing in it. We both agreed that it probably wouldn’t be dangerous, even if it existed. I’m not bothered that it's on my mind so much, maybe its what’s helping me stay relaxed, who knows.

22^nd February 2011 : 6:58am

Another abyss hunting dream. I was on some kind of spaceship orbiting a planet. I was sat at a computer screen and it occurred to me to search for “abyss”. It spat out a list of coordinates and finding myself the captain, I ordered a course be set in classic star trek fashion, while the sexy first mate lady sat on my lap, which wasn’t very star trek but most enjoyable. It might have been Suzy, but I cant remember. I remember the planet we arrived at had a large hole punched all the way through to the other side. Hovering near it, I could see all the way through to the stars behind it. I shook my head, it wasn’t much of an abyss, but I made them fly the ship through it for shits anyway. Freudian symbolism? Flying a big, long spaceship through a hole? Maybe I just need to get laid.

23^rd February 2011 : 5:34pm

Didn’t write yesterday and then didn’t sleep a wink last night. Damn it. Maybe Mick was more right than he suspected about this diary stuff. Did have a strange thing happen at work though. I had to check some network cabling on the floor above and found that there was no slack in the cable when I knew there should be plenty. I opened a panel on the floor expecting to see a snagged cable but all I saw was a dark hole, the bits of multicoloured cable snaking into it and out of sight. I shivered as I reached my hand into the darkness, groping along the rubber cords. I had thoughts of the abyss cross my mind and quickly withdrew my hand. I sat back on the floor and caught my breath, I hadn’t realised I was holding it. An icy sweat was on my brow and I felt my limbs shaking a little. The other people walking and working around me carried on oblivious to my presence, which was nothing new. I found my left hand was placed partly over a trailing cable on the floor. I gently tugged at it. It moved easily. I leant forward on my hands and knees again and looked into the access tube. It looked lighter. I could see the cables stretching away to about an arms length before they met the tract underneath and split into different directions. I closed the hatch and Allen keyed it shut. I’m losing my mind again.

24^th February 2011 : 3:16am

Still no sleep, and my mind is still consumed with thoughts of the abyss. I have no idea why. I know that the full quote from Nietzsche references monsters, and the abyss is the idea that if you fight monsters, be careful you don’t become one yourself, so why is my mind treating the abyss like some kind of literal place I can go? I am, I think, dealing with thoughts of self annihilation, that’s the only thing that seems to fit with what’s happening. Or maybe the monsters bit could mean “if you work with idiots, you’ll become one.” Maybe my mind is trying to prevent me from turning into a noob?

4:20am

Dozed off at my PC, woke up with my face pressed on the keyboard. Another abyss dream, but can only remember fragments, maybe due to the odd sleeping position? I remember smoke and the feeling of being high up with a large space around me. Nothing explicitly said “abyss” to me but I’m certain it was another dream in that vein. For even an hours sleep though, I’ll take it, even if I have the worst nightmares imaginable, I’ll take it. I can't go back to not sleeping again, I just can't!

25^th February 2011 : 4:52pm

Work was shit today. I found out that Suzy had mentioned I’d asked her out to some of her friends. When I went up to sort out someone’s infected computer, they were all giggling and winking at each other. Just great. That stuff about forgiving her for anything earlier? That bird has just flown.

28^th February 2011 : 1:02am

Slept reasonably until now. Something woke me up and I have no idea what it was. I am so wide awake now that I keep forgetting to blink. Hopefully I can get back to sleep after a bit of surfing the web, then back to bed to stare at the ceiling again no doubt. Maybe I should get a poster up there, a nice one of Gillian Anderson would be just the ticket.

5:01am

I found the abyss! My hands are shaking but I can just about type. It was a dream in which I knew I was dreaming. I was in a wooden shack in some kind of forest. It was getting dark outside and the wind was starting to pick up debris and throw it against the wooden walls. I tried to open the door but it was locked somehow. The wind became even stronger and started to rock the feeble structure, the roof groaning under the strain. I struggled with the door latch again but it wouldn’t even wobble.

I felt myself becoming angry. Days of no sleep and strange dreams had taken its toll on my humour. I would like to say my arms crackled with power and that I glowed like some kind of superhero but I didn’t. I just clenched my teeth and fists and yelled a silent shout that seemed to release some kind of pressure inside me.

With a loud crack, the roof was torn away far above, the walls blossoming outwards like some strange wooden flower unfurling its petals. They teetered at floor height a moment before being wrenched away and vanishing into the darkness around me. The wind blew to hurricane levels, seeming to swirl the darkness around me like some inky mass that was almost solid. I shouted something, I can't remember what, I couldn’t even hear my own voice.

The noise and commotion went on and on, the only thing left about a square metre of dirt under my feet. The forest, the hut, the sky, everything was gone, and around me was just a fluid blackness and immense space. As suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped, the wind lessened, and the silence that followed was even harder to deal with. Everything was so quiet. It almost seemed to leech at my ears. My head was filled with the sensation that my very thoughts were trying to rush out, to move into the space and fill it with something, anything that might mean there was something out there. That was scary enough, but when the sensations reversed, I thought I would die of fright! The feeling of internal pressure pushing outwards flipped around and now something felt like it was pushing in. My ears pulsed as the drums felt like they were being pushed towards each other through my head. My eyes, which I had quickly closed, seemed to sink back into my head as if someone was pushing on them with their fingertips. I felt the skin around my clamped shut mouth pulled in opposite directions, the muscles in my jaw straining to keep everything closed. My nose was where it went wrong. Something long and thin felt like it squirmed its way up, wriggling and slippery like a worm. I did briefly open my eyes and run my trembling hands over the area below my nose but they found nothing, no slippery worm tail hanging there.

A buzzing feeling began to resonate around the inside of my skull, causing me to close my eyes again, as my whole head vibrated. I cried out but the buzzing simply got worse. I collapsed to my knees, the sensation spreading to the rest of my body. I think I lost consciousness, because when I next opened my eyes, I was laying on my bed, looking up at the ceiling.

I sat up slowly and checked my body for signs of...anything odd. I couldn’t see or feel anything amiss. In fact I felt great! My normal morning anxieties were absent, my heart beat felt solid and relaxed, my muscles strong and firm. I laid back again, retracing the events of the dream over and over. What about my mind? I brought the things to mind that I’d seen done on countless TV shows, where a concerned medic leans over someone who has been knocked on the head and asks “Do you remember your name? Who is the prime minister? What year is it?” I passed with flying colours. It all seemed to be there.

Better get ready for work now, times getting on.

5:17pm

A very good day! All hell broke loose with the email servers. It would normally have had me reaching for my paracetamol and swearing under my breath all day. Today, I just went about my business. Every angry secretary, analyst and department head that came my way seemed to lose all of their bluster before they even opened their mouths. I even got offers of help and rewards from some of them when I had sorted out their respective issues.

I left Suzy til last. I was still annoyed with her gossiping and it making me feel like such a fool. When I walked into her office she sprang out of her chair so that I could sit. I didn’t say anything to her, just tapped at the keyboard and sorted out some incorrect settings. As I stood to leave, she put her hand on my arm and asked me if it was too late to go out for that date. I asked her what had changed, and pointed out she made me a laughing stock last time. Tears shone in her eyes and she said she was sorry, she was stupid. I said I didn’t know, and she sank to her knees, the tears flowing freely now. She actually grovelled.
When I got home, I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time. It was certainly still me, but something had changed. It was subtle, but I thought some of the softer lines in my face had firmed up, my expression looked quietly amused with something, and my eyes had a shine that made my head swim. I thought back to my dream and how things had felt since waking. I was me, but better, more assured and more...alpha male? Was that it? I gazed at my reflection awhile longer, pondering until my mind began to lock up. I went to the fridge and got a beer, sipping it thoughtfully from the can. An experiment occurred to me which might settle things a little. It would be fun either way.

1^st March 2011 : 7:06pm

It worked! The experiment just confirmed my feelings. I made two dating profiles on a couple of similar demographic dating sites, one with an old photo, one with a new one taken last night. Both shared the same words underneath. The old photo got no interest and no replies. The new one got 14 messages and three nude photos.

I should be happy, and I am to a degree, but I can’t shake the feeling that it could be better, could be more...worthwhile. I feel a different kind of loneliness now, one of separation from a loved one not seen for months, although I have no one like that in my life so am just baffled at where this feeling is coming from. I feel the best that I’ve felt for years and yet here I am still not happy, which is classic Eugene I guess. Either way, I’m having an early night tonight, maybe it’s all just been a bit too much of a change too suddenly.
If I dream, maybe I will find the abyss again. I hope so.

3^rd March 2012 : 03:12am

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