Dark Pondering - A Circle of Jerks? 

Written By Casey Douglass

Circle film Image © Copyright FilmBuff

I watched a film on Netflix yesterday. It was called Circle and starred a fair few people I recognised from other things, but could never tell you their names without Google’s help. The setup of the film is that a group of people regain consciousness while standing in a circle. I hope that didn’t shock you, it did come at you from nowhere right? Long story short, they have to vote to see who gets killed by a strange energy beam next. I quite enjoyed the film, it was interesting to see how people began to bicker and argue, especially when under stress. There are some spoilerish things below so if you decide you want to watch the film, you might like to do that first and read the rest of this post another day. I try not to give everything away though.

It is interesting to see how people try to judge the worth of another’s life. The people in the film worked their way through many aspects of life: age, career, marital status, the existence of family or not, skin colour, sexual persuasion and religion to name but a few. On reading, that certainly makes them sound like an utter bunch of wankers, but on the other hand, how do you judge the worth of someone? It seems the only rational answer is simply not to judge, that every life has worth. That wouldn’t make much of a film I’m sure, and it rarely happens in real life, which is very sad. The people in the film were put in a situation that seemed to point them towards having to choose, but even that didn't mean they had to vote for someone else’s death.

Some of the people refuse to kill others by voting, and there are others who sacrifice themselves instead. The assembled group also splits into factions consisting of those who feel everyone is equal, and those who feel a young girl and a pregnant woman had the most right to survive. There is even an endgame in play but I won’t give away any more spoilers here.

I think I clicked with the film as worth is something I have always struggled to see in myself. On the other hand, I know I am guilty of judging others just as harshly at times too. I think it comes from the old habit of the human mind, that of wanting to compare things: what we have and what we don't have, what we do and what they do. Used sensibly, it can give us information about how to right injustice, highlight areas of our lives we need to work on, and things like that. Used wrongly, it can inspire hate, greed, alienation and low self-esteem. One theme of the film was the occasional agreement between some of the people, who did agree that the uniting thing amongst them all was that everyone wanted to live. The sad thing is that many felt that this justified any behaviour that helped toward that end. You’ll be shocked to hear that the concern for others’ well-being only extended so far as the person expressing the concern was safe themselves, with the odd exception.

We all need a strong survival instinct. If we didn’t have it, the human race would probably have died out millennia ago. On the other hand, humans need more than survival, or what's the point? If we devolve into angry primates when the chips are down, we are undoing any sense of progress or advancement we might have achieved as we have evolved. After all, if we take the big picture view, every person alive at this moment in time has been a fantastic product of survival. Surely that makes us all equally worthy to be alive right now? Our jobs, hobbies, social circle or lack thereof don’t mean we have any less right to be here. On the other hand, it is this same survival instinct that means, in a 1-on-1 life or death situation with another, we are quite naturally inclined to side with the continuation of our own existence.

It’s certainly a tough one. I applaud Circle for giving people something to think about.

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Chronic Illness and the Writer's Path

Sometimes writing takes on the aspect of being called on to do a public speech at very short notice, the blank page mirroring the expectant faces of the audience as they await your words. Your chest might tighten, your hands might tremble and your mind unleash a host of unhelpful thoughts about your abilities and your right to even try.

As with many things, even if you are strong enough to not worry about what other people may think of you, the voices in your own mind may well be the hardest hurdle to overcome. Yesterday I wrote a short paragraph that could have led into a quite satisfying story but anger flared and I deleted it as I declared it to be “A load of bollocks!” I then felt ashamed at treating myself that way. It is said over and over and over by experienced authors: “Write first, judge later!” or words to that effect, so why didn’t I do that yesterday? Who knows?

My health has been very poor, both mentally and physically, so it could have been pure frustration that writing one crap paragraph took more effort than seemed worthwhile.

My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder has been dragging away parts of my life for years. While I have made what I feel to be good progress in many areas, the ones that are left are particularly hard to deal with. It is a mental disorder that is very treatable and I have had various help and treatment over the years. There is nothing else left for me to try, but as with many things, knowing and doing are two different things. I know my OCD inside out, what is going on, why and what I need to do, but when the fear grips you and your body is in fight-or-flight, that is far easier said than done. It still claims a large amount of my time and energy; energy I can ill afford to lose.

My Chronic Fatigue Syndrome forces me to rest for hours on end, my body trying to deal with the pitiful demands I actually ask of it. CFS is a very misunderstood and devastating illness, and far more needs to be done rather than just diagnosing by exclusion, spouting trite advice and then being baffled when the very unwell person fails to improve. I was relieved when I was given the official diagnosis of CFS some 12 years ago, having a name for how I was feeling and some measure of recognition. Now I see it for what it is, a license to be pushed aside and forgotten about, all effort to really find out what is wrong seemingly ending overnight.

I very rarely mention my illnesses on this site as I wanted it to be all about my writing and less about me. I know that, by virtue of the processes involved, my writing is about me in many ways, or aspects of me, but I don’t feel I have blatantly revealed much of myself in this way before. I think now is the time to inject more of myself into this site, especially the parts of me that play such a large role in who I am and what I do. I feel ashamed of being ill, inferior, jealous of others and bitter about life. I am also working on these things and trying to accept myself for who I am.

I am really trying to do something with my life, and have been for many years, but the struggle and strain skewers any feeling of progress or achievement, comfort or connection. I have things that I am thankful for and I know things can always be worse, but damn it, I’m exhausted and about ready to drop. Writing is my thing, the thing. Those blank pages I mentioned at the start of this piece? They won’t be blank for long, even if it’s not words, it will be something of me, a doodle, a rant or a smear of blood from my bleeding hand. Whatever it is, it will be something!

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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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Life Getting in the Way

I haven’t forgotten the blog, far from it. I feel I should be writing on it daily but my health has been a struggle for me lately, and my writing has ground to a halt.

There were a number of promising competitions coming up for Halloween that I had hoped to enter but whenever I tried to conceive or develop an idea, my mind seemed to clam up and mock me with silence. I’m not sure if it was writers block, procrastination or just my mind being worn out and telling me to get stuffed. Even worse, when I have been able to watch a little TV or play a little Xbox, my mental "kick-him-when-he's-down" coach chimes in with “Oh, you can do that but you can’t write 100 words?”

On the plus side, I am reading a lot more and getting through books in record time for me, so at the least, I am expanding my horizons in some measure. Actually, when I am in the mood to write, I don’t read so much, so maybe that’s my natural pattern. Who knows.

I have a few blog posts already fleshed out so will be upping my output now hopefully. Don't worry though, I won't be posting about my every meal or bowel movement, no matter how spectacular lol.

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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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