No one, that's right.
An LSD trip given to me at a party by a friend that I am quite convinced now, after much rumination, was a psychopath, led me to believe that I had died and was now streaming smoothly along a fat vector perpendicular to the Earth, and that this was my Eternal Fate. But no, no, this is not it all at all, God is a funny man, He is, I know. I am cheerfully accompanied by all my perceptions and expectations, (all very much alive paradoxically while I am dead), that I had come to understand on Earth. Like it was all buried in my mind like a tomb for an afterlife; it’s all really quite ingenious. I’d imagine them depicted as little winged brutes in Technicolor (my perceptions and expectations, this is/they are) swarmed all around and above my shoulders and behind me as I walked in stride, nearly nude, into the Belly of the Whale, in some great Renaissance portrait. I have had time on my hands. All I knew came and went as it did in my life, and after the initial sort of discomfort one might expect to feel when nothing truly exists before them, where they have to explain to people that these people are not really there (which one decides very quickly to stop doing- imagine the frustration caused by their expected response, though quite comical, some respond by jumping around and acting like rabid primates then stilling and asking, “Did you expect that I would do that! How’s that for unreal!” to which you respond, “Well, yes as a matter of Fact, I did expect you to respond in a way to try to convince me otherwise, because you are an intelligent and generally good person.”), well, the discomfort never quite truly subsides, but there was to be some sort of lugubrious drollery in all of this, sort of set upon a foundation of self grandiosity. Like I felt as if I was in a book, devised by my mind and waking each day was fantastic because it was all conjured by me, all new things part of my unconscious creativity, all things new to me not quite so because they came from me, and I always felt a sort of post hoc expectation of each event. I‘ve not quite acquired a High complex yet, like a feeling of equality or superiority with the figures before me, though even this might be expected due to my extreme, and debilitating, consciousness, but no no no, I don’t, honest. I, my ego, the protagonist in this terrible awful awesome play, remained also as I expected the course of my character to be and become. Ha, I can live with this, with one fear, but otherwise no other stress really, I still have motivation to perform in this world because my course is governed, not by Justice, (though Justice governs God), but by Expectation, hail. I hope I’m clear. I can’t manipulate anything consciously, just as I wasn’t able to then. I’m just compelled toward the greatest happiness. No one has ever expected that time could be undone, so really I only have one shot in my continuation, and I prefer a functional and inquisitive peace. I’m interested in everything, mostly, because it’s all like art, you understand? Life really is peaceful.
How did I die? I don’t know. I haven’t ever really cared. Some sort of thing that was maybe complicated. Though I don’t know if I believed in Complication, logically, therefore I do not truly believe in my complicated death. I can still lie. I wonder sometimes how different my expected world, after this elapsed time, is from the real one. I mean, the new things here may not exist at all... My studies, my greatest concern, if I had never heard of them, then perhaps they actually do not exist at all, how Fantastic! I’ve made up history, all of it, all the grandeur, all the disgust, as I expected it would have been. The mind has always been known to fill in gaps, and make things out of things; it's its own place. This is all disconcerting, but here I am without choices. He’s funny, He is. Who can say that something that exists at this moment did not have a way of getting there? No one, that’s right. Nothing’s complicated, it’s all clear as daylight in a big fat vector.
The "R" on my keyboard is loose.
"Wash your hands."
"Stop."
Don't mess with me, I'm one crazy-ass motherfucker.