Bay

I lost no time pointing out the sheer cliche-ness of the experience: the moonlight glinting off the waters of the lake in the night. But I suppose there is a reason cliches are cliches. Despite never being able to put those words to paper seriously again, one is still allowed to experience it and take something away. Here's what I got out of it:

Nietzche's Abyss was the first thought. How, when I am lying prone on my back looking at the surprisingly rich canopy of stars, am I to find "up"? Up and down don't exist. So am I just hanging on the bottom, hoping not to drop off into the endless nameless something below? How does it feel to know that past the top of my head, not a single solid object exists until the "end of the universe"? Dark waters have always terrified me as a child. Once, I put my hand into a tank whose bottom I could not see or feel. The revulsion I felt was physically very demanding on my body. That is what I thought of the lake at this time. You could see the curvature of the Earth, and with that seeing, the inquiring mind manages to circumscribe the largest immensity it has right to speak of. Now I know I don't always need alcohol to feel fucked up. I know altered mind-states produce an impression that is different, but not fundamentally different--whatever that means.

I know, I know. I'm really milking this in a sort of unwarranted way. Maybe I should spend a month writing nothing but hokkus. That'd fix me.

Cons-: "Part of the inhumanity of the computer is that, once it is competently programmed and working smoothly, it is completely honest."