Typical paper posting

So here is the typical paper posting, and yes I know there are no commas after any of the he said she said quotes. I screwed up ok, get off my back about it. Anyway, I had a lot of fun doing this and hope it is at least some what entertaining to read.

In My End Is Your Beginning

My name is Elysian James Eidolon and I don’t know how much time I have left. I am forgetting things about myself-things which any other person would have no trouble remembering. My family, friends, and acquaintances are slipping from my mind and the sorrow is unbearable. Doctors say that I am suffering from some kind of memory loss like Alzheimer’s, but I know it isn’t true. I can remember things that seem so mundane, like: “I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secrete of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality that you and I will share, my Lolita”. I can’t remember who Lolita is. She might have been an ex-girlfriend or relative, maybe even a teacher, but I’m positive she changed my life somehow.
So much time has gone by that the events of my life spin together like a cobweb. Even when gazing at a photograph, I feel as if I am peeking into a portal linked to a nostalgic other world or lifetime, possibly not even be mine. Also, I have been having these very strange dreams as of late and they leave me a token of remembrance every time I wake up. These dreams are more like nightmares, though, because I am always paralyzed by my emotions and my tongue feels like it’s cemented to the top of my pallet. I believe that these dreams are the cause of my memory loss as well. If only there was more time for me, then maybe I could act on the wisdom imparted to me. Each time I have a dream I am always accompanied by someone with some ridiculous name. I believe that the names mean something, but what, I don’t really know. The following accounts are of what goes on in my dreams. Please whoever finds these
confessions, burn them. I do not want you to suffer from the same agony I am experiencing now. If you do find these accounts, then I did not succeed in transcending out of my insanity and approaching death, and therefore, couldn’t burn them myself. I only write these happenings down out of some hope that by writing such crazy Jung-Freudian-bibble-babble, I might understand what is happening to me.

In the middle, not only in the middle of the way
But all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,
On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold,
And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,
Risking enchantment—T.S. Elliot, East Coker

April 27, 1986
I had the strangest dream last night. The kind of dream that feels vivid enough to change one’s self. I was alone at first, wandering through a forest of aspen trees. I felt scared and the hairs on the back of my neck were prickling with the sense of being watched. With every step that I took something shifted in the dark and stepped with me. Picking up my pace, I began to jog through the trees, hoping that maybe I could put a little distance between me and whatever was stocking me. The forest was illuminated by the moon in such a way that the aspen trees looked like ghost figures covered in ash. When I looked down, I nearly passed out from terror. Under my feet and all around me were human bones… And occasionally there were little glittering objects, which I soon recognized to be jewels and pieces of gold capturing the pale fire of the moon. Trying to get the better of my hunter, I burst out of my jog and into a run. After a few moments of running as swiftly as possible, I spun around to face my opponent…only, when I turned around, there was nothing there. Not even my footsteps were visible. It was as if I too were just a ghost hovering over crackling bones. Peering into the eerie grey light I thought I saw a black figure moving from tree to tree. I tried to call out, but my mouth was dry as sand and not a single sound came out. Deciding to submit to my phantom pursuer, I knelt down amongst the bones and precious pearls and prepared for the worst. From out of the shadows came a figure covered in midnight black fur. Its eyes were gold like a cat’s, and its body was a large mass of muscle. As for what it actually was I cannot recall. It looked like me, but in an animal form. Breathing heavily, it slowly inched its way towards me. When I looked at its hands I noticed the flesh-peeling claws and that its feet also left no track. About an arm’s reach away, the beast stopped and also crouched down, meeting my gaze.
“What are you doing in my forest?” it growled. I tried to speak again and found my voice cracking with fear, “What are you doing in my dream?” A gurgle of what must have been laughter spilled from the animal’s throat.”You think this is a dream? I could kill you here and now, and free myself from this ashen world.” A slow tingle began to drift down my spine. I looked at the beast and decided it was probably right. The more I looked at the black figure the more I felt as if I were looking into a mirror. “Who are you?” I asked. The beast inched itself a little closer and said, “I am Boris Alters Mejomo, and I am a part of you. Do you not recognize me? I am the violence, lust, and desire within you. I take what I want without hesitation or afterthought. I am your embodiment of action.” At first I wanted to deny the beast. After all how could this grotesque creature, with spittle dripping from his lips be a part of me? And what did it mean when it said that it could kill me and be free of this world? The tingling feeling in my spine began to increase and a sense of nausea crashed into my stomach. I responded, “If you are a part of me then why would you kill me? What would you gain from my death? Wouldn’t you die too?” At this the beast shifted its weight into a more aggressive stance. Somehow I knew that what I said was not going to be true and felt as if I might give in to its predatory gaze. I felt as if a part of my soul was in danger of being ripped out of me. I tried to regain control over my quivering hands by clenching them into fists, but my shoulders shook instead. A slow smile crept onto the wicked face staring at me and the beast said, “Elysian, I am going to kill you now. There is nothing more you can do to prevent my escape; for if you die then I will no longer be the demon of your soul. The bones that you see around you are the bones of many generations. Those who were greedy and worldly dwell here, only to be slaughtered by me and my greed. The jewels are my prize, but jewels cannot speak. I am lonely and will be free of my worldly torment. I will kill you and bring an end to this terribly dark and cold place. ” With that said the beast let out a howl and swiped one of its nasty claws at my face causing me to fall backward. Then I woke up.
When I opened my eyes a warm liquid spilled into my right eye and I raced to the bathroom. When I looked into the mirror there was a deep gash across my right eyebrow. I felt as if my soul was tainted with the poison of fear. I vomited into the sink at the sight of so much blood and knew that the beast was more than just a dream. It had escaped from its world and now resided totally in mine. As soon as that thought formed in my mind, I felt a sudden surge of aggression course through my body, the same kind of violence that accompanies a feeling of helplessness. For the rest of the day I was stuck in a mental state of vulgarity and sin. No one spoke to me today, and everyone seemed to be avoiding my gaze. I am afraid to sleep tonight for fear of losing another part of myself to some dark place within my own mind.

We, content at the last
If our temporal reversion nourish
(Not too far from the yew-tree)
The life of significant soil—T.S. Elliot, Dry Salvages

April 28, 1986
Finally fell asleep last night around two A.M. My dream wasn’t so violent this time. Instead, I found myself sitting next to a bubbling stream. It must have been some sort of a botanical garden because everything was manicured perfectly. There was a statue, which at first glimpse looked like the beast I had faced last night, but more human than I remember. There were no claws or cat-like eyes, but the size and the position of the statue fit the profile of my beast from where I was sitting. I closed my eyes enjoying the serenity of my surroundings, and when I opened them the statue was now only a few feet from me and animated. Chiseled to look like a perfect human being, the statue resembled a Greek god. I looked a little closer and saw that the statue seemed to be, yet again, somehow a part of me. Unlike with the beast, I felt only intimidated by the sheer beauty of this figure, that is, until I heard it talk.
It spoke with a kind of nervous jabber. Like some overly self-conscious person, unable to sit still, it chattered, “Have you seen it? The beast I mean?” For some reason I still hadn’t gotten over the shock of a walking, talking, neurotic statue that seemed to resemble me, and so I wasn’t able to respond. “I know you have because you have its mark over you right eye “chided the statue. “Who are you?” I replied. “And how do you know about the beast?” The statue actually stood still for a moment, as if it were shocked by my question. Then it exclaimed, “Why I’m Bartolome Moirjes! And I am a part of you of course. Not the looks obviously, but I am the rational and meticulous part of you. I try to reason out everything and therefore am constantly in motion and always changing my mind. As for how I know the beast, well, he’s comes to terrorize my beautiful garden you see around you. Usually I can shame him away, but yesterday he was too much for me to handle and destroyed almost everything. I didn’t get done finishing the clean up until just before you arrived.” I took another look around and was sure that nothing had ever actually happened. When I turned my attention back again to the statue, he was off in the distance trimming the branches off of a tree. I got up and walked over to him, and during my walk the surroundings seemed to change with every few paces. Entire seasons went by and the flowers, grass, and trees blossomed and died over and over again. When I finally got to the statue figure, I stopped and looked at my hands. They were a wrinkly mess and the skin felt loose on my body. “What’s happening to me?” I asked. The statue merely glimpsed at me and told me I was aging. Feeling a little faint I sat down again and realized for the first time just how stiff my joints were. That was when I noticed that the tree he was trimming was no ordinary tree. Faces were carved into its bark. I didn’t recognize any of them, but felt subtle resemblance to all of them.
The statue looked down at me and gave this long but rapid speech saying, “This here is your Yew tree. In it are the faces of your ancestors and the knowledge of many lifetimes. Nothing is ever forgotten, you see, it is just tucked away in this tree for safe keeping. Whenever you decide to move toward action, a new branch or leaf stems from the specific ancestor whose past experience influenced you to act in such a way you see. As you can see here I am pruning away the branches that have deadened from lack of use. In this case, I just cut away a branch belonging to one of your more passive family members due to your outrageous behavior’s yesterday. And if you look over here, you can see where some are growing out of your more aggressive ancestor who fought in a war long ago. Everyday new branches grow and die and so as you can see I am always very busy. So if you don’t mind I have lots of work to do and you must be getting back to “reality” before you grow too old and die here.” Before I left, though, he ripped off a piece of bark and touched my cheek and told me that when I did wake up, all I would have to do is look into a mirror and I would remember all that had happened there.
When I got up, and went to the bathroom, I noticed that there was a brown mole where he had touched my cheek and a flood of ineffable images skirted across my mind; A headache swarmed over my brain, and I doubled over from the pain; just as that happened, I felt the essence of time affect my body and new that something else had changed about me.

And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of Emotion—T.S. Elliot, East Coker

April 29, 1986
I’m changing faster now. My dreams are happening even during the day. Just yesterday as I tried to go out for a brief walk hoping to calm the chaos that was lingering on in my mind. I was thinking about the relations between the two obscure dreams, when I suddenly began to drift into another world. My surroundings were speeding by and changes were happening so fast that I could only make out certain scenes: a baptism, a funeral, a wedding, and a war. And then, as I was speeding past these events, I looked over and found a young boy sitting next to me and everything became still and there was a very bright light, which veiled everything from sight. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I’m here to let you in on a little secret. Do you know the nature of cowardly action?” Again I felt unable to speak and just sat there, and looked away. “No” I said after a few moments of silence. He looked at me and smiled saying, “We are all cowards. Especially you Elysian, and me as well, because we are under the spell of distraction. Engrossed by emotion, people surrender their actions to desire, anger, love, and joy. We are all cowards because it is easier to be distracted from the important experiences happening in everyday-life. We are all so complex that we can’t see how wonderfully simple life can be. Caught up in the turmoil of war, a civilian feels forsaken and condemned to torment; a person lost in love, surrenders too much to the act of devotion and they lose sight of everything going on around them. We are all cowards because of our lack of discipline.” After hearing this, I felt stuck, unable to act. After a few more minutes went by, I finally asked, “What is the solution to all our problems? How can we detach ourselves from the world so that we can be free in living?” He looked at me and said, “Detachment is not necessarily the answer. It is only a part of the process. We must all find a way of restraining ourselves to become aware and sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of others. This kind of mentality is what allows us to make the right choices, free from distraction. Someone once told me as I am telling you: ‘proper emotions are how we can control our environment.’ Or in other words, proper emotions allow us to be detached enough to make the best choices.” Knowing that our conversation was about to end I asked the boy his name. He said, “Jase Lorimer Toombs”. After that he faded away and once again I saw a flash of “reality”.
When I finally realized that I had just been standing right outside my house, staring at nothing and talking to myself this whole time, I felt a stinging sensation on my right arm and had to stop and see what it was. When I pulled up the sleeve of my shirt, I found a kanji scribed into my shoulder, and instantly I knew what it meant. Marked with the symbol for “warrior” I realized the significance of what the boy was trying to tell me. We are all warriors of life and our path is one of discipline, everything around us is distracting us from our pious path of heroism. We are always going to be cowards until we can conquer emotion and fare forward into right action. Why now though? With death coming I feel that I am not ready to face the responsibilities of being a hero.

Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush?—T.S. Elliot, Burnt Norton

April 30, 1986
It happened again today. I was sitting in my comfy chair imagining my college days, when the room got very dark. A host of shades surrounded me, sitting absolutely still. Petrified at the sight of what must have been my peers- who had shared so many classes with me that they could all be relatives-turning into ghosts, I stood up and walked over to one of them and reached out to touch it, but my hand merely passed through, as if it were only smoke. When I turned towards the door I saw a lady standing on the other side looking in at me through the window. I walked up to the door and jiggled the handle, but it didn’t open and the lady just shook her head. Then she began to talk: “Don’t bother trying to open the door. I am the gate-keeper, Lolita Morbesor Jems, and you are not yet ready to leave this room. There are still a few more things for you to learn before you are ready.” Again this feeling of paralysis struck me and it took some time before I could say anything. When I did finally say something it just barely slipped out of my throat. “Ready for what?” I asked. Once again the lady just shook her head. She seemed so familiar, but I could not quite place why. She then said, “You are not ready to face the truth. People are always ignoring the truth, which is why deceit is so strong within our minds. We are always seeing what we want to see and not what is. People are the creators of meaning, but we are never creating the proper meaning for genuinely constructive purposes. Corrupted by the bitter apple of lies, we merely flounder in misunderstanding as well as miscommunication. Too often, do we see only through our own eyes and not through other’s. This one-sided train of thought stems from our ego and the anxiety of influence-not just from someone else’s achievements, but also of our own. We are so concerned about differences and similarities, that we are unable to step back and view things as a whole monad of existence. Encouraged by superficial notions of ‘reality’, we are plagued with the poisons of misdirection and become oppressed by our own lies and excuses. We must approach everything with caution and open our eye-of-knowledge to the infinite possibilities of not just understanding, but also accepting the existence of things as they already are. Let go of the truth of things, Elysian, and pay more attention to the truth of life.” Nodding to her, I realized that none of what she said was actually said. Only believed by me to be said and therefore I understood what she was saying. I am the embodiment of truth. Only I can decide what I believe and what is “real”.
The hairs pickled on my skin as I recall this now. I looked around to see if there was a new marking, but there was none. I feel as if I am going crazy, yet, at the same time I feel as if I am being liberated from some strange illusion… I can’t describe it properly, but I know that I am changing. My brain feels as if thousands of butterflies are beating their wings trying to escape from a cocoon.

What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation—T.S. Elliot, Burnt Norton

May 1, 1986
This is my last journal entry. I am exactly 86 years old today, and am breathing my final breaths. My name is Elysian James Eidolon, and I am fading away into nothing more than a memory now. I don’t even have enough energy to build a fire to burn these ramblings of an old man. I don’t really feel as if I am dying though, instead, I seem to be moving beyond time. I realize now that these dreams are the realizations of an old man with many regrets. Looking back at these strange occurrences and the new markings on my old body, I am reminded of my youthful chapters in life. I know that only my bones will die here. The truth of my life right now is change. I must die to change. If I am born again, I only hope that these profound realizations come sooner so that I can create myself through them better. Mr. Grimm is almost here I can hear his footsteps approaching. I feel calm atculaly. Lkie mbye tihs ins’t teh end…

In my beginning is my end—T.S. Elliot, East Coker

April 15, 2010
My name is Robert James Loomis and I am 23 years old. I was born in May 2, 1986. When I was conceived, I was easy to recognize in a room of mundy babies because I have a mark over my right eye and a mole on my left cheek. For some reason when I was eighteen I mistakenly tattooed myself with the kanji “warrior”, and have been having these strange dreams ever since. I have decided to keep a dream journal now, due to so many “coincidentally” related dreams. In all of them there is an unusual tree. At first it had no leaves and seemed to be dead. There are also many shapes in the bark similar to faces. As time progresses, though, the leaves and branches seem to be flourishing. The last dream I had, I was in a well kept garden and could have sworn that there was a beast sitting next to a statue. A name was whispered in the wind, and it sounded like “Elysian”. When I tried to walk over to the statue I began to age very quickly and before I got there I woke up…