911.

When is it appropriate to call 911? It’s funny. The night I hear those lines is the night I had to seriously contemplate it.

I watched a movie called Pontypool a couple of nights back, the same night as the incident I’m about to describe. Very good movie. Very sound horror movie. It was everything that terrified me because instead of relying on expensive CGI or campy makeup techniques to terrify you, the first part of the movie greatly revolves around letting your imagination take the reigns to make you the harbinger of your own nightmares. Movies don’t do that enough anymore. They don’t realize how powerful a person can visualize their own fear, and that all they need to do is add the voice of suggestion.

This post, however, isn’t really about Pontypool. I don’t like talking about movies because I fear spoiling it for someone else.

On the same night I watched this movie, I went to bed around 12 only to be awoken by the sounds of pounding at my door. My stepmother is in an awkward situation where she’s sort of between houses and comes down here to do her stay at home job, so I figured it was just her being noisy as ever. The second round of knocks, however had my attention. Being full of paranoia makes you acutely aware of every terrible situation that could possibly pan out, so my mind was already running a mile a minute by the time my feet hit the carpet. This, however, was the first time they actually came to fruition.

Before I did anything, I woke up my grandmother, who had been fast asleep. How she slept through all the banging is beyond me, but when I called out the situation to her, she immediately went for our little pea shooter. It was quickly after that I heard a feminine voice at the door, shouting for help. Shouting that someone was after her. Angrily, my grandma called for her to explain.

What ensued was a stumble upon stumble of words. “Uh… I…” My mind started contemplating why she was pausing after almost every word. Why it sounded so… Fake. Slowly, painfully, and almost emotionlessly, the girl explained that her ex boyfriend had smashed her car window in just down the road. Against my better judgment, grandma let her in.

Covered in blood. She was covered in blood that had apparently dripped down from her face. When you’re an avid halloweener and have seen makeup for seasonal haunted houses being done, everything looks fake, so I can’t truly say whether she was wounded or not. Here are the main concerns though:

1. She didn’t want to call the police. We’ve talked about this part and figure it could be because 1. She was on parole/had warrants for her arrest/etc, or 2. She was on drugs at that very moment. Either is really possible, but the third paranoia option was that nothing was actually wrong, her injury had been set up, and she was just trying to feel out the house to see if it was worth robbing later. This is the one that no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I lose sleep over. This is what all my home invasion nightmares are made of.

2. All questions asked to her were parroted answers of ours. What school did she go to? The same as mine. What kind of phone did she have before her ex smashed it to smithereens? The same as mine. This truly disturbed me.

3. She was so reluctant to call her friend to pick her up. I’d expect nobody would really want to stay in a strangers house for that long, especially when they had a gun they intended to use on you if you slipped up.

Eventually though, she did call her friend, and after getting lost momentarily, he finally showed up. I’d imagine if this was staged, he wouldn’t have had any problem finding the property because he already knew where it was. They could’ve intended on putting out that air, but the whole situation didn’t seem pre-planned at all. I suppose that helps me sleep a little better at night. Not by much.

Now, she did try to get in a second time. Apparently she couldn’t find the driveway (we have a long gravel driveway that connects the two houses on our property). It’s not hard to miss. Unless she was night-blind, I don’t understand how she could’ve missed it. But if she was night blind, I doubt she would’ve been able to find the house at all. I, however, was having none of that. No way. No how. She didn’t seem to fight it though, and within a few minutes, the car left the driveway.

A lot of people have asked me why and scolded me because I didn’t call 911. To be honest, I didn’t really have a good reason as to why I failed to do so. My grandmother, who has pretty much been my rock for my twenty three years of living, didn’t tell me to. It sounds stupid. I’m fully aware. And as strange as it might sound, I didn’t really consider doing it behind her back. I have my own cellphone. I could’ve easily gone into the other room without saying a word.

But I didn’t. I feel that I should go ahead and admit how much I regret it. Sleeping hasn’t been easy since that night. So, should you ever find yourself in a similar situation, just do it. The cliche words ‘better safe than sorry’ ring quite true. It’s going to take me at least a month to get over what happened. To stop jumping at every insignificant sound. Don’t wait. Don’t let them in, just pick up the phone.

Time.

I’ve come to a point in my life where thoughts are a burden. I think a lot about the passage of time. About what ‘forever’ truly means. Honestly, it scares me. It terrifies me. I don’t believe we stop existing when our bodies die. I’ve never believed that, but at the same time I don’t believe any religion is necessarily wrong. It doesn’t feel right to look at someone and say “You’re eternally damned because *insert petty reason here*” I don’t think a creator of so many vastly different things would set such trivial rules. I do believe you reap what you sew, and that what you give is what you will get.

But getting back to the idea of time. I fall asleep in my bed on Monday, and wake up at Friday. At least, that’s what it feels like anymore. I remember being a child, and sitting there watching the clock turn as if I was frozen in the moment. Now I struggle to grasp a day. I think about aging a lot. About how my body will slowly deteriorate in front of my eyes over the years. How my hearing will fade and I find it harder to enjoy the subtle sounds that I love. How my body will eventually become a prison.

I suppose what really scares me is the thought that time won’t slow after I pass. That there is some tier of megadeath after regular death. I fear that I will cease to exist, but at the same time living until forever ‘ends’… Just seems cruel. I realize I’m wasting my time worrying over such existential things I can’t even control, but I can’t stop it. I come back to it every single night.

But then… Then I find comfort in something.

We are human.

We try to understand things, but in the end, how much do we really know? We look at our achievements as some shift in the universe, but it’s more like we’re poking at a piece of sand on the beach of the ocean that is existence. It’s humbling once you realize how small you are. How little you really know. How your perception is based on your surroundings. Don’t use it as an excuse. Use it as a comfort. Each and every one of us has a limit. Your imperfection is what makes you beautiful, like a crack on an old jar or rust on a bucket.

The uncertain is beautiful. It’s absolutely stunning, and it’s what I take solace in.

Another Question.

What do unborn children dream about?

It’s not a question I expect an answer to, obviously. A couple years back, I played a flash game on newgrounds that suggested babies dream of dead worlds. It was a fantastic concept, but poorly executed. I’d like to hear thoughts on this if anybody has some.

 

EDIT: Here’s a link to the game if you’re interested.

An Important Question:

Answer if you want.

 

Where is the line between human nature and inhuman nature?

 

That is to say, when do our human “mistakes” become inexcusable, and something subhuman? Is there a line? Is it a gray area? Does it even exist?

Memories, Dreams, and Figments of Imagination: What’s the Difference?

Is a memory only a memory if somebody else was there and also recalls it? Do memories need validation to be true?

I think what I’m trying to ask here is: Does it take two people to make a memory? Kinda like that question if a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound?

I have a lot of memories that I question. And often. It’s scary to think that a mind can be so unpredictable that files of memories and dreams can get mixed up.

The worst ones are from my memories as a small child. When I was about three years old living in the North. I recall being in my crib and seeing little twisters floating all around me. One of them had glasses. It scared the shit out of me. It didn’t feel like a dream. In fact, I remember that my grandma immediately ran in to check on me. But it isn’t possible, right?

Then there was a time before that. One minute I’m crawling on the floor… And I close my eyes…

And see myself from another person’s perspective. It was so confusing. I don’t even know who I was.

The point I’m really trying to drive across is… What’s the difference between a dream and a memory? People can lie about what they remember. People can see things. And people can imagine things. So what defines a memory?

I don’t waNt to be here

In this state of mind where everything is to the point and nothing is ignorance. There is no opportunity to rest from the truth, it’s always directly in front of you. Even if you try to turn, there it is, staring you in the face like some kind of sick stalker. You’re a cold friend, truth, and dining with you is always bittersweet.

All the Ears of the World are Open Tonight.

Cryptic messages are my favorite. You read them and automatically start trying to decipher what they mean… But in all reality, they could mean anything, or absolutely nothing. It’s like art. You put an object on a piece of paper or form it with your hands and sit it out on display. For one person, it could be a representation of their childhood. For another, it could be an epiphany… Or nothing but a shape.

The title was actually written on a train as I saw on my way to work. It’s an interesting line that made me think… Made me imagine. The world has a sad lack of mystery in this day and age, and it seems like the only kind next to the paranormal is the man-made mystery (which, in all honesty, the ‘paranormal’ could all be human-engineered as well).

Last night, I woke up periodically. Once at 12am, then another time at 4am, to see if my alarm had gone off and I had somehow slept in. I’m sure whatever I was dreaming had something to do with it, though I can’t recall what that was. About half a year back, I’d tried to start a dream diary so I could immediately wake up and write my dream down. It’s supposed to open the gateway to lucid dreaming. However, like all my other diaries, it was discarded. If I could do that on a computer, I think I’d have a better chance of keeping up with it. Maybe I’ll think about doing that.