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  . .   . . .    . .    . .    . .
 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .        "Today Reality Is Our Enemy   
 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .           (Just Like Yesterday)"
  . . .  .   .   . . .  . . .  . . .            by Mental Kompass


  . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

        I can see the trees from here.  I can smell the flowers on the
 ground.  I'm standing in a large grassfield all by myself.  This place is
 beautiful, I think to myself, it's a truly beautiful place.  Somewhere close
 to me is an old barn, I can't see it but I know it's there.  I know the
 paint has started to fall off, the doors are long since gone and all that
 remains inside are some old machinery parts.  But right here is just me and
 my blank mind.  Even though my eyes are closed, I still see the trees far
 away.  This is freedom.  This is life.

        In the background there is a quiet sound.  Or maybe not so quiet.  I
 hear it louder.  I can't smell the flowers, all my brain can do is to feel
 the sound.  The FUCKING sound.  I hate it.  I hate every second of it.
 Someone stop it.  I feel myself slipping, slipping away, as if I had caught
 my loved one falling down from a high ledge knowing I'm not strong enough to
 hold her hand anymore and I have to watch her fall to a certain death.
 That's how I feel.  Now everything is black.  I have been so busy thinking
 about how much I hate the sound that I forgot to listen if it is still
 there.  So I listen, and it is still there.  But I don't hate it anymore.
 I'm just sick and tired of it and I know I can make it stop.  Somewhere deep
 down I know I am the only one that can make the sound stop.

        My hand is moving, slowly, as I if this was the first time in my life
 I tried to use it.  But I can move it.  Slowly.  Now I know why everything
 is black.  It's because my eyes are closed.  If I can move my hand maybe I
 can open my eyes too.  It's strange, I dont remember closing them.  Just
 doesn't make any sense.  But I open them and I can see my hand -- among
 other things.  Like a table.  And a bed.  A bed?  What is a bed doing here?
 I don't need a bed for my grassfield.  And a table?  What the fuck is that
 doing here?  Something is wrong, terribly wrong.  Nothing that I see here
 would fit in my grassfield.

        My body feels numb.  My eyes feel tired, they want to stay closed but
 they can't.  I'm lying on something soft.  That's the only thing that feels
 good.  I watch my hand moving, trying to reach for something.  I don't know
 what but I can feel I've done this a thousand times before.  Maybe a
 million.  My hand stops moving and the sound stops sounding.  It's over.  I
 did it.

        With my eyes wide open I can look up and see a white ceiling.  I
 begin to sweat.  I realize what has happened.  The grassfields are gone.
 The trees are gone.  So is the barn and all the old machinery parts inside
 it.  The flowers and their smell is gone.  I have left my dream and entered
 another, a dream some people prefer to call "reality".  And reality is a
 nightmare.  When there are so many good dreams to enter, why do I always end
 up in reality, the worst dream of them all?

        I'm officialy awake.

        To survive in my grassfield-dream all I had to do was close my eyes
 and be there.  I didn't even have to breathe.  If I wanted to I could smell
 the flowers.  But to stay alive in this dream I have to constantly stay
 cynical and see all the terrible people that live in it and think of how
 much I hate them.

        It's not that I hate everyone.  There are some smart people too.
 Take music for example: smart people make stupid music which stupid people
 spend their cash on that they earned on their stupid job which they only got
 because their stupid boss is so stupid that even he listens to stupid music
 even though he is way too old to like it.

        That is just plain stupid.

        One of the persons that I don't hate is myself.  But that might just
 be because I'm so stupid that I dont realize how stupid I am.  But I'm
 willing to admit that this is one of the subjects that I haven't given a lot
 of thought, maybe because I'm afraid that I will realize that I am worth
 hating.

        That is what scares me.

        Now that I'm awake I know something: reality can really suck.
 Sometimes it does.  I know it will today.  It's too late to go back to my
 other dream cause I lost all the grassfields when reality took control.  Of
 course, you can get out of reality too -- the quick way.  Some people grow
 so sick of it that they commit suicide.  But that's hazardous, you could end
 up in an even worse dream.  You just don't know and gambling with reality
 can be dangerous.  You just dont know.

        That is what keeps us alive.

  . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
                                                                             
  .           anada 105             by Mental Kompass  (c)2000 anada e'zine .
      
  . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
