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Description
"The Cold Stare That Spoke"

Excerpt from the personal logs of Alexander Duilly
Dated Janruary 10th, 2003

His yellow teeth glowed obnoxiously, as if an intentional over-achievement, to make up for the lack-there-of in his pale, crab stalk eyes that had clearly lost any interest in sparkling, even if just for the courtesy of supplying some comfort to the others around him.

Though what he was saying should have been my focus, I couldn't help myself from being lured into granting all attention to those inexplicable teeth.

I would occasionally tune back into the audio of the encounter, but before long I would just fade into a well lubricated trance over those jittering, bruise painted pearls.
Not because they were anything to look at, surely.
I had never seen such hanging, cavernous fangs. I dont even know if you could use the word 'teeth' to define them. They looked like an ancient, crumbled castle wall, laid in with all of the technical aptitude of  a sociopathic eight year old, with a head full of various mind expanding substances and only a bucket of sepia shaded play dough to get the job done.

The rest of his phyical attributes may have been bountifully slanted towards a dim disfigurement, but man, those teeth were the things of a kindergartener's traumatic nap-time nightmares.

He kept rambling on about something or other, but it could have been coming from a voice on the other side of the planet, for all I could hear of it.

Suddenly he stopped his lengthy rant, and I was violently shaken out of the daze by a painful chill pounding against me.
I looked up and revealed the pronounced source was a rocky stare that he fixed flat against my eyes unlike any other that had ever been bitterly donated in my direction before.
Out of all of the plentiful others in his audience of unwilling listeners, gawkers, and distracted patrons, he cast a stare at me like he had never encountered a human being in his life. It was a stare a person couldn't willfully give anything of it's own species, like he was just looking at some foreign, mutated being of undefineable origin. I felt like a sick animal of a delusionally obsolete nature.

It paralyzed me.
It stung my skin.
I dont have the slightest clue how long it may have lasted.

The air between us instantly filled with a tangible emptiness and wrapped around me like a sticky fog of pure, air born toxic excrement. It was too thick and cold to breathe it in, it felt like trying to suck a frozen milk shake through a hollow plastic coffee stirrer. It wasn't going to be getting any better til it would soften up, but I was certain the man would have let me shrivel up to a husk and disintegrate with a breeze before he let that happen.

Then suddenly his words continued, though his mouth remained in a dusty motionlessness.
They echoed in a tone so emphatically ear fucking that if it had been audible from anywhere else but  my skull alone, it would shatter every window, wine glass, and mirror in this hemisphere, but it was somehow inescapably blatant that the voice was localized from an exclusively internal broadcast.

In spite of the blinding volume, there were no words, as I knew them, just a bloody siege of shapeless imagery that screamed out to me like an abandoned, beloved action figure left buried in a public sand box.
It was seamless visual energy, impervious to definition or translation. I just felt it battering me like  waves of  palpable darkness tearing me to the bottom of the sea with the stubborn tide.

The images seemed to depict a story to me, like a swiftly flickering slide reel of two shaded figures that spent a fictitious, but infinite lapse of  time imprisoned within the expanses of a shared dream.

The two had fallen out of the universe entirely. It was like some devastating metaphisical accident that someone would have been taken out and shot for, if there had been anyone assigned to prevent it. It was like they slipped through an invisible, gaping crack in the sidewalk of reality and everything that exists in it.

Their descent was more like an inebriated stumble down a circular staircase than a graceful dive, I could perceive that much.

At first each of them shruggingly denied it and gently excused the lapse as hallucination, but in time the dreams they had became more convincingly genuine than the physical world they were sorted by.
Eventually the seams between the seperate universes faded into an undetectable oblivion, the way that natural gas can effortlessly blend in with common oxygen. It sure smells a bit off, and you have a clear suspicion that something might be horribly wrong, but still the only way to reveal the difference is to light a match and take note if the empty space you stand in combusts.

They found themselves wandering for ages in an expansive plane of endless imagination that was no more bent by their will than I can influence the phases of the moon with my bowel movements. Though I've never bothered to attempt, I still know one has no effect on the other.

Each started off completely alone, from their own seperate dreams, beginning from two points divided by great distance, and never expecting to escape or even see another person for all eternity. But then, after what felt like a thousand lifetimes, they crossed paths in an act of the purest spontaneity.

Together they took shelter from the metamorphic harshness of their unwillingly shared environment
They were so different in every respect, neither believed the other could be real, just another figment to torture them,
They may well have been the two most diametrically opposed people in existence, but they were the same person when they stood next to eachother.

After what could have been another thousand lifetimes, they both grew accustomed to their scenery, just as it grew accustomed to it's two sole inhabitants. They learned how to manipulate it as though it were an extension of their own form. They lived like self generated gods. All was theirs to be controlled, and nothing existed without their expressed, written consent.

Brick by brick, they constructed a gateway back to the realm of men, where they could share their worth with all of humanity and bring word of the glory of unconsciousness, and the monotony of  the physical world.

Upon it's completion, the opened it wide, and for the first time since they fell through that crack in space, they returned to the world they had come from.

Then the slide show stopped, and I fell to the ground under the weight of my own bodily mass.

It was dark out.
The man with yellow teeth was gone, as was everyone else that had been in the area.
I was alone, sweating and empty, with one cheek to the cold pavement and no sensation in my body to remind myself of it's availability.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep there.
Behind their blindfolded barrier, I could still clearly make out the jittering, bruise painted teeth of the man who had spoken to me with a vibrant stare.

The teeth kept tirelessly dancing around just behind the tattered curtain of his tobacco tinted lips.
It all had an  intoxicated grace that was like a mating dance orchestrated with the seduction skills of a desperate pole dancer to pick up a lonely bar roamer in a ill lit night club's back room, somewhere far away.

I dont know how long I lay there, but never once did the perfeect image of those yellow teeth leave my mind.

Description
"The Cold Stare That Spoke"

Excerpt from the personal logs of Alexander Duilly
Dated Janruary 10th, 2003

His yellow teeth glowed obnoxiously, as if an intentional over-achievement, to make up for the lack-there-of in his pale, crab stalk eyes that had clearly lost any interest in sparkling, even if just for the courtesy of supplying some comfort to the others around him.

Though what he was saying should have been my focus, I couldn't help myself from being lured into granting all attention to those inexplicable teeth.

I would occasionally tune back into the audio of the encounter, but before long I would just fade into a well lubricated trance over those jittering, bruise painted pearls.
Not because they were anything to look at, surely.
I had never seen such hanging, cavernous fangs. I dont even know if you could use the word 'teeth' to define them. They looked like an ancient, crumbled castle wall, laid in with all of the technical aptitude of  a sociopathic eight year old, with a head full of various mind expanding substances and only a bucket of sepia shaded play dough to get the job done.

The rest of his phyical attributes may have been bountifully slanted towards a dim disfigurement, but man, those teeth were the things of a kindergartener's traumatic nap-time nightmares.

He kept rambling on about something or other, but it could have been coming from a voice on the other side of the planet, for all I could hear of it.

Suddenly he stopped his lengthy rant, and I was violently shaken out of the daze by a painful chill pounding against me.
I looked up and revealed the pronounced source was a rocky stare that he fixed flat against my eyes unlike any other that had ever been bitterly donated in my direction before.
Out of all of the plentiful others in his audience of unwilling listeners, gawkers, and distracted patrons, he cast a stare at me like he had never encountered a human being in his life. It was a stare a person couldn't willfully give anything of it's own species, like he was just looking at some foreign, mutated being of undefineable origin. I felt like a sick animal of a delusionally obsolete nature.

It paralyzed me.
It stung my skin.
I dont have the slightest clue how long it may have lasted.

The air between us instantly filled with a tangible emptiness and wrapped around me like a sticky fog of pure, air born toxic excrement. It was too thick and cold to breathe it in, it felt like trying to suck a frozen milk shake through a hollow plastic coffee stirrer. It wasn't going to be getting any better til it would soften up, but I was certain the man would have let me shrivel up to a husk and disintegrate with a breeze before he let that happen.

Then suddenly his words continued, though his mouth remained in a dusty motionlessness.
They echoed in a tone so emphatically ear fucking that if it had been audible from anywhere else but  my skull alone, it would shatter every window, wine glass, and mirror in this hemisphere, but it was somehow inescapably blatant that the voice was localized from an exclusively internal broadcast.

In spite of the blinding volume, there were no words, as I knew them, just a bloody siege of shapeless imagery that screamed out to me like an abandoned, beloved action figure left buried in a public sand box.
It was seamless visual energy, impervious to definition or translation. I just felt it battering me like  waves of  palpable darkness tearing me to the bottom of the sea with the stubborn tide.

The images seemed to depict a story to me, like a swiftly flickering slide reel of two shaded figures that spent a fictitious, but infinite lapse of  time imprisoned within the expanses of a shared dream.

The two had fallen out of the universe entirely. It was like some devastating metaphisical accident that someone would have been taken out and shot for, if there had been anyone assigned to prevent it. It was like they slipped through an invisible, gaping crack in the sidewalk of reality and everything that exists in it.

Their descent was more like an inebriated stumble down a circular staircase than a graceful dive, I could perceive that much.

At first each of them shruggingly denied it and gently excused the lapse as hallucination, but in time the dreams they had became more convincingly genuine than the physical world they were sorted by.
Eventually the seams between the seperate universes faded into an undetectable oblivion, the way that natural gas can effortlessly blend in with common oxygen. It sure smells a bit off, and you have a clear suspicion that something might be horribly wrong, but still the only way to reveal the difference is to light a match and take note if the empty space you stand in combusts.

They found themselves wandering for ages in an expansive plane of endless imagination that was no more bent by their will than I can influence the phases of the moon with my bowel movements. Though I've never bothered to attempt, I still know one has no effect on the other.

Each started off completely alone, from their own seperate dreams, beginning from two points divided by great distance, and never expecting to escape or even see another person for all eternity. But then, after what felt like a thousand lifetimes, they crossed paths in an act of the purest spontaneity.

Together they took shelter from the metamorphic harshness of their unwillingly shared environment
They were so different in every respect, neither believed the other could be real, just another figment to torture them,
They may well have been the two most diametrically opposed people in existence, but they were the same person when they stood next to eachother.

After what could have been another thousand lifetimes, they both grew accustomed to their scenery, just as it grew accustomed to it's two sole inhabitants. They learned how to manipulate it as though it were an extension of their own form. They lived like self generated gods. All was theirs to be controlled, and nothing existed without their expressed, written consent.

Brick by brick, they constructed a gateway back to the realm of men, where they could share their worth with all of humanity and bring word of the glory of unconsciousness, and the monotony of  the physical world.

Upon it's completion, the opened it wide, and for the first time since they fell through that crack in space, they returned to the world they had come from.

Then the slide show stopped, and I fell to the ground under the weight of my own bodily mass.

It was dark out.
The man with yellow teeth was gone, as was everyone else that had been in the area.
I was alone, sweating and empty, with one cheek to the cold pavement and no sensation in my body to remind myself of it's availability.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep there.
Behind their blindfolded barrier, I could still clearly make out the jittering, bruise painted teeth of the man who had spoken to me with a vibrant stare.

The teeth kept tirelessly dancing around just behind the tattered curtain of his tobacco tinted lips.
It all had an  intoxicated grace that was like a mating dance orchestrated with the seduction skills of a desperate pole dancer to pick up a lonely bar roamer in a ill lit night club's back room, somewhere far away.

I dont know how long I lay there, but never once did the perfeect image of those yellow teeth leave my mind.