I’m sitting in the car. I’ve
remained here for several ho-
urs. I’m listening to this static
coming through the radio. I
have no idea how long I have
been listening.

I’m looking down at my hands
as I write this and they are
writhing. Resembling spiders.
I am having a hard time conc-
entrating. The static keeps
getting louder in a hypnotic
way.

A cutting sensation takes ov-
er me. Like I am being shred-
ded. I can feel something
terrible taking place in my sk-
ull. Some great detaching. Wild
electricity. Losing ground fast.

I sit still as a statue, b-
ut the spiders wiggle below.
Terror is associated with
this feeling. A thread being
sheared. A strand of ha-
ir. Cut loose, and floating
off. Off. Off. On the
wind.

The sound is cutting into m-
e. Into my mind. Strangling
me. Detached. Floating. Wei-
ghtless. A balloon rising. T-
he air changes. Pop. I am no-
thing. Just an invisible eye.
A black hole consuming and a-
nnihilating information.

There is no presence associa-
ted with the feeling. Rather,
lack of presence. The all-co-
nsuming fire. I imagine a la-
rge tentacled mass behind me,
its fangs attached securely t-
o my skull, sucking. My insides
secrete. I’m emptied. There
is clearly nothing left.

How long has this been going
on?