Herein' lies an ongoing tale of the Breakdown of Reality as I see it:

11/21/03 - "Chapter 1, Part 1: The End Looms at the Begining continued..."
The strange ill feeling I've been carrying for the last few days has cumulated into a general sense of wrongness. It has left me cowering in cold corners and while left to my own designs my mind has plunged into grotesque depths of deepening winter depression. This is the result of a lack of the essential sunlight, and an understanding that it's not even winter yet. I do not look forward to feeling in this manner for a good four months.
While walking upon the train, awaiting my usuall journey deep into the heart of the human congestion, it hit me. A strong, deep repulsion of the traincar. It was old, by many years, and smelled not of fermaldihide, but of a slightly septic smell. The windows were so clouded that had they been eyes they would be called cataracts. Whilst taking a seat with thinly conceiled anger I felt that time shifted ever so slightly. These people surrounding me did not come from this year, nor this decade but surely some time nearly ten years past.
This jaring sense of spatial distortion lasted only till I checked my watch, at which point a cellular phone rang and broke the thin spell which had settled over the dismal train on yet another dark and raining, dismal day.
This surely is not the first time such annomalies have occured. I'm starting to sense them more frequently now. There is a good chance that I have been sliding between possible time and places, and that only because I can fit so well in the spaces that no one see. Many a night have I rested on the train and peering into the darkness felt that the world was no longer the one that I knew, and that with good possibility no one would recognize me as who I was if I lingered in such a state.
Perhaps I should seek council in this matter and take better precautions.



11/20/03 - "Chapter 1, Part 1: The End Looms at the Begining!"
'The sunshine was not so tasty today', or so would have said the plants if it had not been the last days of fall. Walking down damps streets and dodging raindrops it's easy to see in the wane light of the streetlamps that New England is not a fun place to spend damp days. It seems almost to easy to let the brain sneak away to sunnier climes while the feet carry you off, down into the underground.
Ah, the underground. Warm and smelling of tar and machinery. Traveling the oldest subway stations in the nation and it looks like very little has changed in a hundred or so years. Sadly unfortunate that, however there is little that you can do when you are just one of the hundred of thousands who doesn't even live in the area, your just there to work.
In my particular circumstance, it wasn't even to work for money, but that is an unrelated and petty matter. Casting about with listless eyes and waiting for the harshest sound of badly oiled breaks that cried out in pain, making my ears take up their own pained cries. This is the old line, and it doesn't have the long snakelike confirguration that the newer lines do. These cars are short to take fantastic corners and they dare you to press on inside them. Their cramped, overstalked insides buldging with people delicately balanced in precarious positions that for a time can shake even the most stalwart loners (such as myself) realize that the world is so full of people that I couldn't possibly hope to know more than a fraction of a percent of them.
So I press onward, throwing myself up against the drivers seat partition and leaning over slightly to get a tremendous sense of vertigo as the tunnel races past. It's a feeling akin to flying along the ground. Rarely does one go so fast while standing up. Leaping off at another station I can hear the soon to be banned subway musicians play their swan songs to a mostly jaded audience. The mice in the tracks have passed innumerous generations dancing, leaping, and hoping to these varied beats. It tends to make one wonder that if their world suddenly fades to silence other than that of the incoming trains, will they behave differently?
I press onward- towards home.