Tale of the Golden Skyscrapers

Everyday I walk down a back alley to work. I brush by sordid garbage cans filled with an inexplicable foulness, homeless people who need to be deloused before they turn into a passel of fleas and other microbial parasites, and new configurations of my shadow, whereby sometimes my shadow outstretches and outshines everybody else’s meek, homunculus-like shadow, and sometimes it doesn’t even look like my shadow, but rather that of a surrogate. I get antsy when the alley leads to an intersection of six roads, where six different traffic routes come together and merge into one poorly constructed hive of activity. Not because I am terrified of being nailed by a person not watching where he or she is going. I get antsy because I have visions, lucid visions no one else can presumably see, of two otherworldly skyscrapers rising from the concrete like golden obelisks when I walk through the intersection. I know this sounds highly paranormal. Don’t believe me if you don’t want. But I swear these buildings exist in some strange, trans-sensible way.

I have been reading about Atlantis, the Bermuda triangle, alien abductions, outer body experiences, telekinetic powers, the secret machines of the Egyptians, the twelfth planet, the possibility of parallel universes, and stuff of this sort for over six months now, but none of it explicates why I have vivid and lucid visions of two golden towers at this particular intersection. My family thinks I have been under too much stress at work. My girlfriend has surmised that I am slowly turning out to be just another nut amidst all the other crazy men out there. My cat doesn’t care what I say as long as I feed her on time and pet her when she wants to purr. As for my own conjectural analysis of my mental state during the thirty seconds I traverse the intersection every single day…I am truly at a lost for words. I only hope I can piece it all together before my girlfriend dumps and disowns me.

I should mention that there is more to the hallucinogenic mirage of these two golden skyscrapers than meets the fantastical eye. When I catch sight of them, I am cognitively stuffed with eerie, tetrahedronic insights into the nature of the cosmos. The insights are ‘tetrahedronic’ because they have some dimensional girth to them, unlike the conventional and mundane thoughts that are preludes and postludes to my walk through my own private twilight zone. When I see the spectral effulgence of the towers, I am able to dissect reality from a million different internal perspectives I never knew I had.

One morning I caught sight of a loggia on one of the sphinx-like skyscrapers, and so I started to almost intangibly think about the prehistoric civilizations that have nothing to do with us. The prehistoric civilizations from other dimensions in and around ours were made up of ochre flowers and saffron tendrils that could reach as high as mountains. In concordance with the turning gears of evolution, the tendrils eventually inseminated the flowers with a spore-like substance, and so their progeny were serpents with iridescent lily pads for mouths. The fantastical serpents could sing like opera singers with engrossing falsettos. Their music catalyzed and introduced them to the first technology known to their species: static electricity. Static electricity to them was like radio technology is for us. It enabled them to broadcast communicative signals that could transform the inchoate ideologies of their peculiar nation. Forlornly their kind died out when they reached the threshold of communicative potentiality, and so they dissipated into nothingness. All that is left are the scattered vestiges of their once prominent dynasty, which have taken the form of television sets with octopus tentacles for antennae.

Another morning I looked into an office of one of the golden skyscrapers and, in a place where you usually see an employee typing frantically away besides an artificial plant, I saw the time-lapsed process of evolution unfold in a cinematic-like montage of images. This unfolding process was nothing like the one our current scientism has been able to grasp. At first, there was a white hole glowing with diamond-like figurations. Then, almost like the white hole was mysteriously infected with malignant cancer, black holes started to form around the circumference of the white hole. The black holes pooled together in a thick oil spill of oblivion and consumed all the diamond figurations in the process. After everything was completely and terrifyingly assimilated in black, there was a looming sound shot out through the limbo of eternity. The sound’s vibrations eventually condensed to form a lonely star over an interminable ocean of black. At this point, the star became like a biblical prophet, and it filled the blackness with prescient realities that had never yet incarnated. Needless to say, I was perplexed by the evolutionary images in the golden tower’s window. It got me thinking about the instability of my sanity in the six-lane intersection.

I think I will continue walking down the black alley leading up to my own private twilight zone. It has become a regimented part of my day and, oddly enough, fetishistic for me. I now live for the moment when another person is caught looking at the perhaps illusory towers. I live for the moment when this person marvels with me at their immaculate and exhilarating beauty, and we both become bonded by our eccentric visions. This is all I could really ask for.