Tell me something of the insanity.

The insanity?  Not much to tell, really.  There’s things jumping, man, but they’re not really there.  I turn to look and there’s nothing.  Door slams in the hallway, but you look and there’s nobody there.  But I see ’em, man.  At the corner of my eye, I see ’em.  And I’m thinking the edges are collapsing and I’m seeing the behind, the stuff behind – the stuff they don’t want you to see.  And I’m seeing them more and more and I’m seeing more and more of the stuff behind, like almost all the time now.  And so, I’m thinking maybe it’s all collapsing, you know?  The front stuff is collapsing and the behind stuff is taking over.  Like maybe the end is coming, you know?  Drawing nigh and shit.

Tell me something of the behind stuff.

Starting to see the same finger in everybody’s pie.  Nobody will look at me, but I see them looking when I look away, I see them looking at the corner of my eye.  But then they won’t look at me and the world pulls slowly away and just leaves you behind.  You’re floating in the middle of an expanding balloon and you watch as the limits recede into the distance in all directions while you remain, fixed in position.  And you’re detached from the events around you, man, something askew between you and reality.  The world’s a backdrop, the people a projection.  You are a formless apparition floating in the air just above your torso, just behind your nose, if such things actually exist.  You are not a person, you are a perspective.  And then a jarring, twisting moment when the world seems to suddenly come unstuck and rips away, rapidly stretching into the distance, yawing uncomfortably as it elongates.  A vertigo inducing moment.  Ambient noises muted, overpowered by the sounds of your own blood rushing through your collapsing head and of your heart pounding out a thumping rhythm and the staccato sharpness of your hyperventilating lungs.  Disassociate.  The mimicry of reality continues to play out before you.  Images on a screen, aware of events but not a part of them.  Smiling demons all.  Pretend people.  Cracked.  Sweet, sweet blue juice and a packet of Mike & Ike.