30 copies of the below were printed in various colours on scrap paper, then released into the big bad world

You’d better hear it from me before you catch it on the telly or newspapers or whatever.

I’m sorry.

I don’t know how I ended up here. It’s terrible it all came out of something that was nothing, really. An idea that breezed in and should have breezed out – but I caught it by the tail, on a whim. Curiousity demanded I take a closer look so I pinned it down – what did I expect? Not much. Not this.

It all came quickly. When I saw that I had the power to dismantle everything, entire reality as we know it… well that’s the beginning of the destruction isn’t it? Combine knowledge of power with the recklessness of youth and you’ll spell trouble.

And as soon as the ball was rolling it all happened so fast. Almost simulatenously, lapping layers collapsing on top of each other in one wonderful terrible moment.

Everything lost meaning except for this one imploding process. I was crossing traffic lights and cooking dinner and brushing my teeth but in a totally disembodied way because the story in my head had engulfed me. There was all this incoherent gurgling yelling, awful awful.

I tried to laugh and trivialise it all. I knew if I could successfully contextualise it as just “another experience” I could diffuse it. But how can you laugh at the corrosion of yourself? That part of me, the absurdity had already been whittled away.

Knowing that my sanity was so vulnerable and precious only increased its vulnerability and my unquenchable desire to test it. It was mad abuse but what else was there? I wasn’t about to listen to the “Do Not Push” sign when the button was so juicy and red.

Writing is helping me soothe my soul, like the words aren’t scrambled anymore, they’re flowing into some kind of physical shape which can be sorted and controlled.

But really, it’s too late isn’t it?

Anyway. Yes. Tell them I’m sorry.