Sugarcane

1. It is a long way down, from a point we did not choose. \n\n[[BUT IF WE DAMN OURSELVES, CAN WE ALSO BE OUR BEST\nHOPE FOR REDEMPTION?|consider2]]

You are in your room. There is [[LIGHT|LIGHT]] and much [[PAIN|PAIN]]\n\nYou are lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling,\nand [[thinking.|thinking1]]\n\n[[LOOK AROUND|Start3]]\n\n\t

\tFour white walls, your messy bed. To the east, \nyour desk and \tyour trunk. To the north, your \ncloset. To the west, your chest-of-drawers.\n\n[[BED|BED]]\n\n\t\n[[DESK|DESK]]\n\n\t\n[[TRUNK|TRUNK]]\n\n\n[[CHEST-OF-DRAWERS|DRAWERS]]

It appears to be made of some kind of frosted glass \nthat is bending the light that passes through it.\n\n[[NICE|DESK]]

There are actually no children present. \n\nThere is no-one present. The room is totally empty.\nYou are conscious of dream you are in, but the \ndream has not ended. The machines are still outside,\nand you cannot wake up.\n\n[[ATTEMPT TO OPEN YOUR EYES|eyes]]

\n\n\n\n[[...|thinking3]]\n\n4. How do you tell someone that they are going\n [[to die|die]]?\n\n[[...|thinking5]]

As you experiment with refraction through dense \nmediums such as glass, you will observe a refr-\n-active angle, as the path of light is bent away \nfrom The Normal, the path perpendicular to the \nsurface of the medium.\n\n[[WRITE THAT DOWN|window2]]

Super Shell World: Gaiden

You take a 100 miligram tablet and a seperate 25 miligram\ntablet of amiltryptaline, and wash it down with some\nbottled water.\n\n[[TO BED, THEN|ami2]]

Just kidding. A "qlippoth" is Hebrew for\n"shell."\n\n[[Mmm|thinking5]]

1. [[What is a migraine?|migraine]]\n\n[[...|thinking2]]

\n\n[[...|thinking2]]\n\n3. How do you know if someone is [[mentally ill|mental]]?\n\n[[...|thinking4]]

[[...|thinking1]]\n\n2. [[What is a thought?|thought]]\n\n[[...|thinking3]]

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[[...|thinking4]]\n\n5. What's a "[[qlippoth|qlippoth]]?"\n\n[[...|thinking6]]

You are aware of a phosphene that appears \nbrighter than the others.\n\n[[JUST LOOK AT THAT SUCKER|phosphenes2]]

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[[...|thinking5]]\n\n6. How do you know, or even surmise, [[the end|end1]]?\n\n[[& c. & c.|Start2]]

The color of a 120 miligram tablet of Propranolol,\nwhich is [[hot pink and purple|prop9]].

Almost every culture has an investigation\nof death. Some are more pronounced than\nothers. In America, 50% of deaths occur\nin hospitals or nursing homes, and conse-\n-quently, our national culture of death is\nvery unserious, if that even seems possible.\n\nConversely, Parisians built an extensive \nnetwork of catacombs beneath their city and\nfilled it with human remains. At the entrance \nof these catacombs is a placque adorned with\nthe words, "Arrête, c'est ici l'empire de la \nMort (Stop, this is the empire of death)."\n\n[[Thanks|thinking4]]

You tussle with the man for what seems an eternity.\nThe crazy old bastard almost fires the thing at //you//,\nbut you wrest the gun away from him a the last possible\nmoment. \n\nLooking at the revolver in your hand, you notice that \nit is curiously light, for a gun. \n\nYou notice that the room is now empty. Surely, this must\nbe a dream. The implications of that awareness rush in \nupon you. The machines are still outside, searching.\n\n[[ATTEMPT TO OPEN YOUR EYES|eyes]]

Propranolol is a sympatholytic, non-selective \nbeta-blocker, bottled and sold as Ciplar, Ciplar \nLA, Inderal, Avlocardyl, Deralin, Dociton, Inder-\n-alici, InnoPran XL, Sumial, Anaprilinum, and Bedranol \nSR. Propranolol has the dubious honor of being included \non the WHO's "List of Essential Medicines." These \n120-mg tablets come in very chic magenta and royal purple. \nIf a police officer discovered these in your backpack, \nhe would confiscate them because they just look like \ntoo much fun. Interestingly, Propranolol is sometimes \nused by muscians, performers and public speakers as a \nmeans of dealing with stage fright. This use is sometimes \ntreated as an unfair "performance-enhancing drug" for \ncreative people. Nevertheless, Propranolol's incisive\npenetration of the blood brain barrier are likely to\ncause negative side effects such as insomnia, vivid \ndreams, nightmares and hallucinations.\n\n[[WELL ALL RIGHT THEN|JARS]]

Heh! That one's [[easy|Start2]].

The pain is throbbing in time with your pulse. \nIt feels like a pressure behind your eyes and forehead. \n\n[[PINCH THE BRIDGE OF YOUR NOSE|PAIN2]]

Mental illness is defined more by what it is not, \nrather than what it is. \n\nIn his //Liber Kaos//, Peter Carrol descirbed \nsanity as "a state in which our component selves \nlove and trust each other and are prepared to let \neach other assume control as circumstances demand \nit. If a particular self [...] begins to seriously \nencroach on the functions of the other selves, it \nis a sign that something is going wrong; the basic \nself-love that binds the selves together is breaking \ndown and demons will arise as a result. A demon is \na god acting out of turn."\n\n[[Good point|thinking3]]

The warm light of your table lamp \n\n[[TURN ON CEILING LIGHT|LIGHT2]] \n

There seems to be some rice at the eastern edge of the bed\n\n[[WHAT'S THAT ABOUT|BED2]]

Ugh, flourecent light. That's just made things \nworse.\n\n[[OKAY OKAY|Start2]]

Okay uh there is a coil of vinyl tubing, a \nbox full of disposable rubber gloves, headphones \nthat have stopped working right, a TAC MkII Linear \nPCM recorder, a big tub of boiled linseed oil, \na bottle of refined linseed oil, a bottle of cold-\npressed linseed oil, several bottles of stand oil, \na bottle of poppy oil, a bottle of Gamsol, a bottle \nof brush cleaner, sand paper, rags, um, there are \nlittle bits of paper here and there that you have \nnot figured out if it's okay to throw out or not, \nand a bunch of wooden dowels. \n\n[[COOL|Start3]]

You avert your eyes and brace for that one shocking\nmoment, but that moment never comes. Has he changed \nhis mind?\n\nNo. The asbence of a gunshot is due entirely to the\nfact that the man and his gun are gone. The room is\nempty and you are alone. The only motion is the fli-\n-ckering firelight cresting through the window. \n\nYou are alone in a dream, you realize, though not\nentirely alone, or entirely dreaming. \n\n[[ATTEMPT TO OPEN YOUR EYES|eyes]]

You take 120 miligrams of propranolol and wash\nit down with some bottled water.\n\n[[TURN OUT THE LIGHT AND GO TO BED|prop2]]

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n"[[What then?|Start2]]"\n\n-Milton Meyer

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n"[[Too late.|s1I]]"

The trunk is full of tools and such. There are \ntwo-by-fours of varying size, canvas, canvas \nframes, canvas pliers, regular pliers, big wire-\ncutting pliers, spools of steel wire, Reynold's \nWrap aluminum foil, 2'' nails, 1 3/4'' nails, 1 1/4'' \nnails, 3/4''screws, 1/2'' screws, 1/8'' screws, 1/16'' \nscrews, a screwdriver, a philip's head screwdriver, \na tiny philip's head screwdriver for 1/16'' screws...\n\n[[NEVERMIND|Start3]]\n\n[[GO ON|TRUNK2]]\n

You are in your room, sitting cross-legged on your bed. \nTo the north, sitting in a wooden chair, a man is speaking.\n\n"You see," he tells you, "One doesn't see exactly where \nand how to move. Believe me, this is true. Each act, each \noccasion, is worse than the last, but only a little worse.\nYou wait for the next and the next. You wait for the one\ngreat shocking occasion, thinking that others, when such\na shock comes, will join you in resisting somehow. You don't\nwant to act, or even talk, alone; why not?\n\n"Well, you're not in the habit of doing it. And it is not\njust fear, fear of standing alone, that restrains you; it\nis also genuine uncertainty. Uncertainty is a very impor-\n-tant factor, and, instead of decreasing as time goes on,\nit grows. Outside, everyone is happy. You speak privately\nto your friends, but what do they say?" \n\n"They say, 'It's not so bad,' or 'You're seeing things,'\nor 'You're an alarmist.' And you are an alarmist. You're\nsaying that this must lead to that and you can't prove it.\nThese are the beginnings, yes; but how do you know for \nsure when you don't know the end, and how do you know, or\neven surmise, [[the end?|s1D]]"

You are in your room, sitting cross-legged on your bed. \nTo the north, sitting in a wooden chair, a man is speaking.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n"Suddenly it all comes down, all at once. You see what you\nare, what you've done, or, more accurately, what you haven't\ndone. You remember everything now, [[and your heart breaks.|s1H]]"

You are in your room, sitting cross-legged on your bed. \nTo the north, sitting in a wooden chair, a man is speaking.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n"Now you live in a world of hate and fear, and the ones who\nhate and fear do not even know it themselves; When everyone\nis transformed, no one is transformed. The system, the mind,\ncould not have intended this from the beginning, but in \norder to sustain itself it was compelled to go all the [[way.|s1G]]"\n\n

You are in your room, sitting cross-legged on your bed. \nTo the north, sitting in a wooden chair, a man is speaking.\n\n"And one day, too late, your principles (if you were ever\nsensible to them) all rush in upon you. The burden of self-\ndeception has grown too heavy, and some minor incident (an\nerrant phone call, a bad joke on television) collapses it\nall at once, and you see that everything, //everything//, has\nchanged and changed completely. The world you live in, or your\nfamily, is not what you were born in at all. The forms are all\nthere, all untouched, all reassuring. But the spirit, which\nyou never noticed because you made the lifelong mistake of\nidentifying with the forms, [[is changed.|s1F]]

You are in your room, sitting cross-legged on your bed. \nTo the north, sitting in a wooden chair, a man is speaking.\n\n"You see," he tells you, "One doesn't see exactly where \nand how to move. Believe me, this is true. Each act, each \noccasion, is worse than the last, but only a little worse.\nYou wait for the next and the next. You wait for the one\ngreat shocking occasion, thinking that others, when such\na shock comes, will join you in resisting somehow. You don't\nwant to act, or even talk, alone; why not?"\n\n"Well, you're not in the habit of doing it. And it is not\njust fear, fear of standing alone, that restrains you; it\nis also genuine uncertainty. Uncertainty is a very impor-\n-tant factor, and, instead of decreasing as time goes on,\nit grows. Outside, everyone is happy. You speak privately\nto your friends, but what do they say?" \n\n"They say, 'It's not so bad,' or 'You're seeing things,'\nor 'You're an alarmist.' And you are an alarmist. You're\nsaying that this must lead to that and you can't prove it.\nThese are the beginnings, yes; but how do you know for \nsure when you don't know the end, and how do you know, or\neven surmise, the end?"\n\n"If his last and worst act came immediately after his first\nand smallest, then you would have been sufficiently shocked.\nBut this isn't the way it happens. In between come all the\nhundreds of little steps, some of them imperceptible. Step\nC is not so much worse than Step B, and if you did not make\na stand at Step B, why should you at Step C? [[And so on, all\nthe way to Step D.|s1E]]"

No one wants to see that\n\n[[ANYWAY|Start3]]

[[BRUSH THAT OFF|BED3]]

You tell him that we can somehow evade the machines\nif we work together. Hiding in an elevator, for \ninstance, would probably block out whatever sensors\nthe machines are using, since any camera capable of\nbreaching the Farraday effect of the elevator (which\nblocks out radio-electric signals) would be too\nexpensive to mass-produce.\n\nThe man is crying and obviously not hearing any of\nit. You ask him at least to save the bullet for def-\n-ending ourselves if necessary, and to consider that\ndeath at the hands of impartial machinery will most\nlikely be instantaneous. \n\nYou look around for support, but has actually emptied\nof all its former occupants. You didn't hear them leave.\nThe man is gone, too.\n\nA knowledge comes to you, as from a bolt from the blue,\nthat you are in a dream. The machines are still coming,\nthough. You're in a nightmare.\n\n[[ATTEMPT TO OPEN YOUR EYES|eyes]]

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Chirping birds are general all the way up the thickly-\nwooded hill outside. \n\n[[THEY COULD CHIRP A LITTLE LESS BUT WHO\nAM I TO MAKE SUCH A DEMAND OF THAT NOBLE SPIRIT,\nTHE BIRD?|prop11]]

Gosh! That sky simply refuses to dim. Dawn is\nmaking its first demands for calm and orderly\nsacrifice. Turning your head upside down, you\nsee [[phosphenes|phosphenes]] dancing on the [[edge|edge]] of the [[window|window]].

Of course, it is also dark.\n\n[[THIS IS SO|prop5]]

Sleep still hasn't found you, I guess.\n\nYour left arm feels sore.\n\n[[TURN OVER|prop6]]

You toss and turn repeatedly for some time.\nTime is difficult to determine when you're\ntrying to deliberately cease consciousness.\n\nYou remember a quote from either "Saving\nPrivate Ryan" or "Band Of Brothers" about\nhow it is easier to fall asleep if you are \ntrying to stay awake.\n\n[[TRY TO STAY AWAKE|prop7]]

The sky has turned its first shade of deep,\nroyal blue.\n\nYou toss and turn repeatedly for some time.\n\n[[MAYBE YOU'RE THE PROBLEM|prop8]]

You snuggle in amongst your downy blanket and \nwait for sleep to find you.\n\n[[TURN TOWARDS THE CEILING IN CONTEMPLATION|prop3]]

You contemplate the color of your ceiling.\n\n[[IT IS ENTIRELY WHITE|prop4]]\n

Good grief! It's even bigger than Earth! And it \n//sees// me! It's bringing out some gigantic hand, \nI guess, to bring me aboard! This is insane! Whatta \nday this is sure gonna turn out to be, me getting \nto meet what look like some pretty cool alien life \nforms if their ride is anything to go by, I mean \nwill you look at the size of these tentacles wrap-\n-ping around my body \n\n[[GOD NO OH GOD|star]]

Jackson O'Brasky\n

Well, spread me on a cracker- There is something \nat the center of all that light! It appears to be \na structure of some kind. Those “sinewy waves” are \nactually the cold erections of metal pylons exten-\n-ding from the center of a celestial sea-urchin! \n\n[[MY GOD|phosphenes5]]

It looks a whole lot bigger than you thought, \nthe closer you get to it! It's like some biz-\n-arre metal labyrinth, like some kinda vile \nstar. Firelight hums inside of its vaults and \ncaverns. It's a big alien factory of some kind! \nReal big, like bigger than the moon, even! In \nfact, it looks… \n\n[[MY GOD HELP ME|phosphenes6]]

It is a vast purple thing traveling incessantly \ntowards the left. The blue marble of the dawn-lit \nwindow drifts away. Movement but there is no move-\n-ment. \n\n[[AIN'T THAT A HECK OF A THING|phosphenes3]]

The body of the violet blot comes further into \nfocus. The light arcs out in sinewy waves. \n\n[[ALMOST LOOKS LIKE THERE IS SOMETHING AT THE CENTER OF IT|phosphenes4]]

It's cracked open at one end, exposing the micro-\nchips and wires inside. It must be totally useless.\n\n[[OH, WELL|DESK]]

You are in your room, sitting cross-legged on your bed. \nTo the north, sitting in a wooden chair, a man is [[speaking|s1A]].

There was that one time someone hid a brass\nring in a cake, which is, like, some sort of\nIrish tradition, I think.\n\n[[A BRASS RING|prop9]]

Consider the man whose mind tells him to tell other \nminds that he has attempted suicide as a means of\neliciting their sympathy.\n\n[[WOULD YOU CALL THAT MAN A LIAR?|ami12]]

Sleep is closing down upon you. Consider the organism\nthat has evolved, over billions of years- each aeon\nof time like an entire ocean of pressure, like winds\nhollowing cliffs- honing and crafting its body, its \nspine and lastly its mind, this living mechanism, and \nhas honed it with such finesse that it (the brain) can \nturn on itself and trick itself, even in waking.\n\n[[AND THIS MIND IS THE SOLE ASSET OF THE DOMINANT\nORGANISM OF AN ENTIRE ECOSYSTEM|ami11]]

Consider if you will "Borderline Personality Disorder," \nintroduced in the DSM-III[[*|*]] in 1980, an illness\nmakred by unstable moods, behavior and relationships.\nBPD can be characterized by delusions, selective mem-\n-ory, and brief psychotic episodes (While mental health\nexperts now generally agree that the name "Borderline\nPersonality Disorder" is misleading, a more accurate\nterm has yet to be introduced).\n\nThose afflicted can hold an abnormal amount of tension\ninside, which can be the source of these episodes. They\nare filled with tightly wound "springs," and the only \nway they know of to relieve the tension in those springs \nis to attack or "tighten" the springs that each person is\nholding inside them. Turning outward, they avoid any\nattempt to address introspective concern. \n\n[[IS THEIR INNER LIFE REDUCED TO NOTHING?|consider]]

(Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders)\n\n[[RIGHT|ami12]]

AMYLTRIPTALINE is an exceptional tricyclic anti-\ndepressant sold as "Amitrip," "Elavil," "Endep" \nand "Lavate." It is used to treat major depressive \ndisorders, but the neurological community has found \nits utility as a syngergistic treatment for migraine \nheadaches. Amyltriptaline's common (as in, present in \ngreater than 1% of patients) side effects include \nweight gain, dry mouth, constipation, urinary hesitancy, \nsomnolence,insomnia, loss of libido, impotence (in men), \nanxiety, confusion, dizziness, and breast englargement\n(in both men and women).\n\n[[SOUNDS GOOD|JARS]]

You can only imagine opening your eyes. The essential,\nphysical action of doing so lays beyond your mental\ngrasp.\n\nWhat's more- without amiltryptaline, you are left in\nwithdrawl from the potent tranquilizer that you take\nevery night before bed. What you are experiencing are\nthe symptoms of //hypnogogic hallucinations//.\n\n[[GO ON|eyes2]]

1. It is a long way down, from a point we did not choose. \n\n2. There is a palace inside every head, and also there\nare labyrinth hells that can be wandered forever, and\nempty sholes with clouded skies and a cemetary of water\nall around.\n\n3. Consider how a man fails, and why. Do not lose focus\non his figure as he gropes in the dark, growing more ob-\n-scure each day so as to hide himself.\n\n4. Don't forget the love that a person like that once had\nfor people; many people, but especially for you. Don't for-\n-get that he still would if he were able.\n\n[[IT WOULD BE SO EASY TO LOSE THAT|consider5]]

1. It is a long way down, from a point we did not choose. \n\n2. There is a palace inside every head, and also there\nare labyrinth hells that can be wandered forever, and\nempty sholes with clouded skies and a cemetary of water\nall around.\n\n[[DO YOU HAVE THE STRENGTH TO GROW FROM YOUR ANGER, OR\nWILL THAT ANGER STEAL YOUR STRENGTH?|consider3]]

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[[It is a very long way down,|eyes8]]\n

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nYou are aware of a far-away noise, as the first of the\nabominable machines break through the door of the shabby\nroom. \n\n[[YOU ARE AWARE OF A FALLING MOTION|eyes7]]

Easily one of the coolest phrases you've ever heard\nuttered by a doctor, hypnogogic hallucinations occur\nduring the transition from wakefulness to sleep- and\nthey cause that transition to //continuously occur//.\n\nTo clarify- the condition of sleep deprivation, focused\nby the withdrawal from a tricyclic antidepressant and\nyour natural migraines, has greated a hypnotic loop in\nconsciousness, one which can lull you towards a lucid\nthreshhold state. The light of your room, the contents\nof your desk- all one dream, over and over. \n\nBut, there is a way out of each iteration. There is al-\n-ways a key, hidden somewhere in the symbolic language \nof the dream, a mental trigger that will bring you out\ninto wakefulness again. \n\nAh, it comes to you, quietly. You stare at the gun and\nrecall the sinister constant at work here. \n\n[[POINT THE GUN AT YOUR OWN TEMPLE|eyes6]]

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nto end anonymously in the endless rotation\n\n[[steered foward by this gladly given light|LIGHT]]

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[[from a beginning we did not choose,|eyes9]]

It cannot be long now. You stayed behind, because \nin truth there is nowhere to run. The enemy is not \njust other men who have come for our property. \nHumanity's extinction looms against devices of our \nown creation- the miracle of A.I., our twin brother, \na species of shells who are perversely aware of their own unconsciousness, and this is the source of their //hatred//. \n\n[[...|star6]]

As far as you know, you are the only people who \nhave not evacuated or fled. For one reason or \nanother, you have chosen to remain or failed to \nescape, and you fill the room for the light pro-\n-vided by the window. Electricity and water \nfailed two days ago. One of the men grunts, his \ntone uneasy. The blasts outside are not just bombs; \nthat staccato of empty thunder must mean that art-\n-illery has come within range. \n\n[[...|star5]]

Outside, you can see the vanguard of their forces\nin the street. They barely resemble the humanoid \nforms we created for them. They are now hateful\nthings of needles, scythes and radial sawblades,\ndragging their vestigial and unecessary electronics\nbehind them, their steps labored and filling the\nstreets with a terrible clanking din. Red laser light\npours from the dense mediums of their searching eyes.\nThey can process many kinds of visual information that\nthe human eye cannot- ultraviolet, infrared, even\nsources of heat. When they detect a living mammal,\nthey climb into the building like ants piling through\na gigantic verticle farm. It is not a matter of 'if'\nthey will find us, but when.\n\nThe man has loaded his revolver and has trained its\nbarrel on his temple.\n\n[[WHAT DO YOU DO?|star8]]

Nowhere to run. The machines will not only dismantle \nour ability to make war against them. Their war \nagainst us will end with our complete removal from the \nplanet, accomplished with the bitter efficiency that we \nbestowed upon them as their awful birthright. Their \nweapons crack open the Earth and blast poison across the atmosphere. One cannot forget the sight of these things. \nWe insisted that we should not have gone this way, in \nthese shabby rooms, with the sound of coughing and tears. \nThe man keeps repeating something under his breath as \nhe loads his revolver. \n\n[[...|star7]]

The truth (as least as you understand it) is that\na qlippoth is the empty word itself, or anything \nwithout meaning. There's no such thing as "no-\n-thing," not anywhere in this universe, not even in\nthis city of shells you find yourself in now- emp-\n-tied of its population, devoid of utility as the\nechoes of the battlefield drift closer and closer.\n\n[[...|star4]]

//Almost// nothing, of course. The difference\nbetween a real-life qlippoth and what we know\nto be absolutely nothing can be confusing at\nfirst, but consider it: even a palcebo is still\na pill made of sugar, and you can't unlearn a\nlearned response. You can't unstir a stirred-\nup pudding. If you keep on saying a word over\nand over, it seems to lose meaning, but it's \nstill a vibration in your throat, a displacement\nof the [[air|star3]].

Mostly white, like [[your ceiling|prop9]].

\n\n\n\n\n[[YOU AWAKE WITH A START.|shit3]]

[[Tell him to "think of the children"|children]]\n\n[[Fight to get the gun away from him|gun]]\n\n[[Implore him to use reason|reason]]\n\n[[Turn your eyes away|away]]

You tell me, cowboy.\n\n[[Sheeee-it|qlippoth2]]

The only clothes in these drawers seem to be blank t-shirts. They come in hot pink, kelly green, and boy-style blue. \n\n[[GREAT|Start3]]

Oooof. Yeah, that's right. One for //God// and one\nfor //country//. \n\n[[KEEP ON TRUCKING|edge3]]

Don't mind if I do \n\n[[WHAT IS THAT NOISE OUT THERE|edge4]]

That ain't Lurleen I hear out there is it\n\n[[THERE ARE SEVERAL OTHER VOICES TOO|edge5]]

Sh-she sounds like she's hollering up a STORM\n\n[[IT SOUNDS LIKE SHE'S IN PAIN AND THERE ARE \nOTHER FELLERS LAUGHING AT HER|edge6]]

Unf... but I-I can't //move//! I's cursed with this\npimp-skittering black bowel movement and I can't move!\nB-but Lurleen is in pain, and she's kin...! What do I \ndo? \n\n[[WHAT DO I DO?|edge7]]

"Aw, GOD, BROTHER! BROTHER YOU GOTTA HELP ME,\nTHESE BRIOCHE BOYS ARE BACK //AGAIN//! HELP!"\n\n\n\n[[WHAT DO I //DO//?|star]]\n\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[[SHIT!|shit2]]

\n\n\n\n\n\nYou are staring up at the ceiling. \n\nYour heart lurches you into wakefulness.\n\n[[THERE IS LIGHT|Start2]]

A migraine is caused by an inflamation of\ncranial blood vessels. The cause of migraine\nheadaches are not known! How about that? Any-\n-way, a "trigger" will cause cortical depress-\n-ion, spreading from the region of the pineal\ngland or hippocampus and spreading towards the\noccipital and frontal lobes. Again, no one \nknows why. A variety of causes have been inv-\n-estigated. Even the mechanism by which the\nmigraine causes //pain// is not currently\nunderstood.\n\n[[Well, gee|thinking1]]

Eventually, manipulation of the light's path or \nthe angle of The Normal will bend the light back \ninside the medium. This is referred to as the angle \nof “total internal reflection.”\n\n[[THE LASER BEAM, FOR INSTANCE, IS AN EXAMPLE OF\n"TOTAL INTERNAL REFLECTION" INSIDE A DENSE MEDIUM\nSUCH AS A LENS INSIDE OF, SAY, A LASER POINTER|window3]]

Dogfish Head 60-Minute IPA is brewed in barrels \nmade of special wood that is so hard that supposedly \nit must be cut with lasers.\n\n[[GOOD STUFF|DESK]]

\n\nYou probably have what people in the headache \ncommunity like to call a "Hemikrania," or "migraine."\n\n[[UGH|Start2]]

There's something frightening, too, about being so pre-\n-cariously close to a state of mental illness. You feel\nat times as though you tread on a minefield. It was not\nso hard to take tricyclic antidepressants at Step B, and\nit was even less hard to take selective serotonin \nre-uptake inhibitors at Step C, and so on to Step D. \nLike a snowball rolling downhill, gathering material, \nuntil you are a spherical mass of pharmaceutical drugs.\n\n[[BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW, OR EVEN SURMISE, THE END?|ami10]]

And there is also a deep abiding irony, that you are\nnot mentally ill- you do not "deserve" anti-depressants\nand beta-blockers, and you shouldn't have to worry about\nwithdrawl from any kind of substance but the kinds that\none normally has fun with- and this gives things the qli-\n-ppothic quality of //one big joke//, and this makes you\nfeel weak.\n\n[[THE TUG OF SLEEP PULLS YOU GENTLY DOWNWARDS|ami9]]\n

[[PINCH YOUR TEMPLES|PAIN4]]\n\n

[[PINCH THE EDGE OF YOUR BROW|PAIN3]]

The shell of your heart is being squeezed with what seems\nto be an outrageous amount of force. It is a miracle of\nengineering, but it can also at times seem to be an un-\n-ruly passanger as you ride and you ride, if you catch\nyour own drift.\n\n[[OF COURSE THIS IS NOT THE ONLY UNCOOPERATIVE ORGAN PRE-\n-SENT ON DECK, BUT IT IS FAR FROM THE LEAST|ami6]]

Of course, it's dark, so really the color is a dim\nyellow-grey row of triangles from the venetian blinds\nand the lights outside, surrounded by reddish black\nthat seems very sure of itself, up there.\n\n[[INEVITABLY, YOUR THOUGHTS WANDER ELSEWHERE|ami5]]

It can be difficult to sleep. If the drugs don't kill the\nmigraine, than it can be difficult to concentrate on any-\n-thing else. Without amiltryptaline, sleep is almost im-\n-possible. Without propranolol, the process is not totally\ndifficult, but it is still more of a task than it used to\nbe. \n\nAnd this is not an adventure story. You cannot forge your\nown path through medical fact. \n\n[[AND SO THERE ARE COMMON THOUGHTS ABOUT HOW HELPLESS IT\nFEELS TO BE IN CHRONIC PAIN; HOW DEMEANING IT IS TO HAVE\nTO RELY ON INTRUSIVE CHEMICALS THAT ALTER THE WAY YOU\nTHINK WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION.|ami8]]

You remember the cool, electric fingers of the EKG as\nit read your heart for any abnormality, the weekend \nafter you awoke with a violent lurch. This was caused,\nit was determined, by an acute withdrawl from prop-\n-ranolol, a beta-blocker that has been flushing through\nyour blood.\n\nApparently, one of the signs of an impenidng heart\nattack is a sudden and extreme pain in your left arm,\nbut since you sometimes awake on top of that arm\nafter the constricted blood vessels make themselves\nknown to you, this can lead to some pretty wild\nmisunderstandings about your bill of health at three\no'clock in the morning.\n\n[[ONE HAS TO GET USED TO THESE THINGS|ami7]]

A colorful shell, which you gave to your\n[[father|prop9]].

You have one hour before the amiltryptaline knocks you\nout. Traditionally this is spent trying to read. There's\nnothing that gets you to sleep faster than trying to \nstay awake. That's a quote, from someone else, but just\nwho exactly escapes you at the moment.\n\n[[NO MATTER. THE CEILING IS WHITE. THIS IS ALL THAT\nMATTERS|ami4]]\n

There is nothing like being between sheets and blankets,\nexcept for reading about being inbetween sheets and \nblankets.\n\n[[CONTEMPLATE CEILING|ami3]]

Of course, phosphenes are a kind of Qlippoth, if \nyou think about it. They're shells- they appear \nas points of light, but like the floaters of dust\nin your eyes, they're really almost [[nothing at all|star2]].

It looks very fragile. Don't examine it too hard.\n\n[[HMMM|DESK]]

\tVarious trinkets and baubles of all shapes and \nkinds. An egg that turns a different color with the \nlight's angle. A hollow glass sphere with nothing \ninside. An empty bottle of beer. A tablet stylus. \nTwo medicine jars.\n\n\t[[THE EGG|EGG]]\n\t\n\t[[THE SPHERE|SPHERE]]\n\t\n\t[[THE BEER|BEER]]\n\t \n\t[[THE STYLUS|STYLUS]]\n\t\n\t[[THE JARS|JARS]]\n\t\n\n\t[[NEVERMIND THAT|Start3]]

These contain two different drugs, respectively: \n120 mg capsules of [[PROPRANOLOL|PROPRANOLOL]] in one jar, and \n125 mg tablets of [[AMYLTRIPTALINE|AMYLTRIPTALINE]] \nin the other.\n\n\tWhile neither of these drugs are FDA-approved \ntreatments for bad headaches, there is a chance that \none of these drugs may alleviate your [[PAIN|PAIN]]. \n\n\t[[TAKE SOME PROPRANOLOL|prop]]\n\n\t[[TAKE SOME AMYLTRIPTALINE|ami]]

The sky has turned the color of a birthday cake.\n\n\ta. [[What is the color of a birthday cake|cake]]?\n\n\tb. [[What is the color of a qlippoth|ekac]]?\n\n\tc. [[What is the best thing you ever found at a beach|beach]]?\n\n\td. [[What is the worst thing you ever found in a birth-\n\t\t-day cake|ring]]?

You have begun to realize that without\nAmiltryptaline, you are not going to go\nto sleep any time in the near future.\n\n[[WELL, FUCK|prop10]]

The phrase "//A// thought" is inherently\nmisleading. Thoughts are not organized into\ndiscreet packets of information. These are \ncalled "words," "sentences" or "phrases."\nThoughts, on the other hand, are ill-rep-\n-resented by the singular, since thoughts\nare actually a continuum of information,\nwhich cannot truly be conveyed by human\nspeech, which is by its nature limited to\ndiscreet packets of information. Thoughts\nalso have the curious quality of non-\nlinearity, which is difficult to under-\n-stand, trapped as we are by the linear \nconstruction of time as we perceive it.\nThis is why some ideas can seem to come\nfrom nowhere, "like a bolt from the blue."\n\nMuch like gravity, true love or migraine\nheadaches, thought and consciousness is\nnot understood by medicine or science,\nand probably never will be.\n\n[[Shucks|thinking2]]

The light from the sun shines through the \nmedium of Earth's atmosphere, curling around \nthe firmament, conjuring the domes and spires \nof churches, trees, and the morning's smoke.\nThe ballet of phosphenes pirouette softly\nthrough the pulsing sinews and humors of your\nown human eyes, a process that involves you,\nsomehow, on an incredibly deep and personal\nlevel that at present escapes your ability to\narticulate.\n\n[[HAVE I BEEN ASLEEP WITHOUT REALIZING? WHY,\nTHAT WOULD MEAN-|star]]

The edge of the toilet seat is cold against your \nthighs. Your first morning words, accompanying a \nsilent prayer. \n\n[[LAY SOME WOLF BAIT|edge2]]