Hellish Exile in the Frozen North, or, The Archons are Real and this Planet is a Farm by B. J

Author:B., J.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

6.

Into the Woods

Tomorrow finds me chalking it all up to a bad dream, a vision borne of too much time spent alone. It’s the movie-theater effect, is all. I’ve pushed through those double doors. As the decades of the winter drag on I think of it less and less, and before long any unintentional recollection or reminder of that night at the water’s edge fails to induce in me any shudder.

But I know.

And yet…there’s still a part of me that would resist the notion, that would rationalize it by way of invoking some forgotten covenant, or at least some form of implicit consent. Even then, it sometimes feels as though they—

yes, THEY—

have cast me in some live-action production, something that, perhaps initially novel and off-beat, has now, in exceeding any reasonable runtime, exhausted itself of its charm. I mean, I get it, I get it. The bicycle, the job.

It’s good for a laugh.

But more and more I fear that I’m running afoul of some primal force, that in allowing myself to play a part to which in truth I am so ill-suited I am provoking an exceedingly dangerous response. There is something which I am either connected to or comprised of that more and more is present at the margins, a warning and a promise that no quarter shall be given, nor further assaults on my sense of self-respect brooked.

Because I mean, look at this shit. Really. Look at it. Working a menial job, starving for intellectual fraternity, not getting laid; is this what anybody wants? No?

Then why give your consent to this state? Why try to fit in, to keep your nose to the grindstone and wait for new opportunities to arise? You are as special as you are cursed; your mandate exceeds that of a normal life. You are a jungle cat grown lazy, used to getting fed; that doesn’t mean choose a master and seek to emulate a dog, a good house pet, a sweet and loyal friend. It means:

Do what the fuck nature has equipped you to do. For otherwise?

You shall suffer.

I am a Lamborghini in first gear, attempting to conciliate those who hate speed. I am a solitary hunter—stealthy, brutal, precise—attempting to quell his hunger pains by way of digging up plants and roots. An embarrassment, an utter and absolute waste…

Digging up the past…shit. What the fuck am I doing up here in Maine?

A monster they would make of me, not knowing the things I have been privileged to see, be it standing in a forest or waking from a dream. I have seen the truth, I have sought for an answer that all along lay before my eyes. A monster; okay. Sure. And I’ll tell you right now, now that we’re laying it all out on the table, that I struggle mightily to contain it, that the world has no clue how hard have been the trials these past few years, how this body has been subject to the most wracking of pains, the

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