Glitch

I once inhabited the future, to the extent that returning to the present felt like a flashback.

I would come to, and find complex tasks done, mileage accomplished.

I was second-perfect, finances immaculate, everything was where I needed it.

My hand on the handle, at the required time.

I had no idea how it happened.

A pseudo-false awakening.

I was grateful to the guy in the past who’d apparently got me here.

It seemed he’d accomplished a shit ton of other stuff I didn’t care about.

It was just to keep the world happy.

I have, I am…a predecessor.

Pilot lights stay on, in a partitioned mind.

And maybe you’re not a mass of contradictions.

Maybe you’re just different people, with what only feels like a whole other life history to explain.

With one possible biography of temporary personality trait aggregates to choose.

I sometimes think ghosts could plausibly be people from the present not the past.

Is it possible that my drifting mind has a presence somewhere out there?

A paradox of agoraphobia. No wonder they talk about angels.

I resurface in a hotel pool.

It’s full of effectively dead people, and a little bastard called Henry.

The Truman Show, with bad actors.

Time for a change of scene.

No-clip

Urbex the beautiful ruins of your history.

Any errors are moot, all mistakes void.

And consider this:

A future self could poltergeist its past, step into your present.

A wall-hack, in superimposed time.

There could be an intergenerational redistribution of talents.

You could hand over to instinct.

Act without thinking.

Become the advantage.

Anchors

Memories are a portal to whole states of being.

You can Alt-Tab freely between them.

A run across the downs in spring: hawthorn, bluebells, salt/seasmoke, gorse, sweet vernal.

Eating nectarine, your toes spread in cool sand, taboo pleasure.

Far out to sea, silent lightning turns night clouds into giant lanterns.

The whole of time has relevance only in that it bookends a moment.

Regruntle

Mind creatures thrive in the gap between what you believe is expected and what you believe you are capable of.

In relationships, this may manifest as a compounding asymmetry of expectation and enthusiasm.

The bonding pattern.

It applies to self too.

You could become Stockholm syndromed to yourself and circumstances.

Caught in the crossfire between wanderlust and safety.

Impaled on stalagmites of happiness and hope.