A sound jarred me into wakefulness, catapulting me from one reality to the next. It was an unwilling transition, like a birth into a world of sharp edges. My eyes opened to a familiar space echoing in silence, disconnected from the place I was only moments before. There had been strangers that were friends, mouthing words that I heard in my mind. Their fading images still scurried about; completing strange tasks in the little time they had left before they disappeared completely. With a hollow feeling I bid them farewell, knowing they were gone forever. Another day. I lie in my bed and let the telltale noises of the world filter in to me, footsteps and muffled voices, car doors and engines. Staring at the ceiling, I interpreted and sorted input, waiting for a revelation. I swam in the newness of this dimension, like a vision in the making, alive with stark awareness. There were rules to be explored with curious wanderings, but the truth remained elusive. I appeared as an actor in a foreign movie, with a soundtrack mundane yet surreal. It played in my ears as I rose and prepared for work, the crunching of cornflakes, the roar of the shower, and the jingling of keys. With metallic clicks of locks and latches, I was out the door and on my way. Hurtling down the road, the motor hummed a commuter’s mantra, soft and powerful, that enveloped me in a warm cocoon of sound. The radio played the Moody Blues’ “On the Threshold of a Dream”. Like the evocative smell of honeysuckle, the music keyed strange memories that lingered in my mind’s eye; the first time I rode a bike, my mother’s smile, friends I had in school. I pulled in to the parking lot wishing I could drive on forever, alone with cherished memories. The techno babble of work greeted me. Computer-driven beeps and electronic noise competed in a cacophony of minor annoyance. Heads appeared above cubicles to exchange terse monosyllables, like some kind of party fueled by the intoxication of fatigue. Something of value was created in the synergy, to be hung in the high-tech marketplace like a burlap bag of clams. The din subsided until exhaustion was complete, punctuated by a mass exodus, each of us retiring to our own twilight retrospection. Arriving at my house, I found an empty shell of gloom and silence waiting to be filled. I fumbled for the remote, and turned on the television and then gave her her first anal sex. It came alive with an obedient snap, painting the room with colored light and dramatic reverberations. I clicked through “Star Wars”, “High Plains Drifter”, “Citizen Kane”, and various musicals including ones like the milf seeker. I had seen them all, and decided to go out for a walk. Gravel crunched underfoot as I strode through the quiet evening. Headlights probed the darkness with futile incandescence. After a few blocks came the faint strains of carnival music floating over the rooftops. As I approached, the music rose to insane volume with a frenetic cadence, in time with the spinning, flashing world of the midway. Carnies clutched rolls of tickets with their small hands, bawling unintelligible spiels to families walking past. Children screamed in terror and delight. Purveyors of oddity stood before gaudy tents, gesturing inward to the stream of gawking humanity at the back seat bangers site. From all around played the macabre music, the notes blending into a fever pitch… My eyes opened to an empty room. The music played dimly and then was gone.