Artificial Reflections

By Dunsboro Desiato

Artificial Reflections is the product of a coincidental alignment of parallel universes resulting in an indescribable trip that will turn your world upside down and make your head explode. Proceed with caution. There. You’ve been warned.

Artificial Reflections is a surreal experience where stream of consciousness, behavioral analysis, fiction, and dark humor come together to not only toe the line of sanity but to continually cross back and forth across it.

So prepare for disturbing glimpse into the sights, sounds, and senses of the one and only Dunsboro Desiato. One that will change your life forever. For better or worse...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dunsboro Desiato
• Release date: Aug 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989533614

Dunsboro Desiato

Author of Artificial Reflections. Advocate of logical nonsense. Connoisseur of fine coffee. Forever delaying the inevitable...

Book preview

Artificial Reflections

By Dunsboro Desiato

Copyright 2013 Dunsboro Desiato

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I would like to take this time to apologize to anyone that I may offend with what I have written here. It is certainly not my intention to be hurtful or to compromise the integrity of our relationship. Rather this is what I had to do to get through what it is that I had to get through. Just know that I love you and I am sorry.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Pro-Log

Chapter 2: Me But Why?

Chapter 3: Hall of Mirrors

Chapter 4: Never Come Promise Yourself

Chapter 5: Breadth Savior

Chapter 6: To Be Continued…

Chapter 7: Tea-Am-Eye

Chapter 8: Oh By the Way

About The Author

Chapter 1: Pro-Log

"It’s time to let loose my virus on the world…"

So recently it has dawned on me that I need a platform from which to throw myself off.

A public one.

One that will put me on display for the world to observe, judge, and perhaps reimburse accordingly.

It was this exact thought that led me to where I find myself today, despite the fact that neither the initial thought nor the ensuing path traveled even remotely fit with the reclusive, introverted personality that I had worked so hard to cultivate over the past some odd years.

But I knew it was time. Had known it was time.

Had known that I had kept myself satiated with my own thoughts for long enough.

Had known that it was time that this time must cease to be.

And so in a disjointed compromise to both fulfill myself mentally and provide for my loved ones financially, I, although visibly torn in doing so, bring to you what was never designed to be brought to anyone in particular: a collection of fragmental thoughts recorded during a time of my life when writing served me in many ways including as a defense mechanism, a hobby, a goal, an obsession, a mystery, a creative outlet, a source of frustration, and a form of therapy.

Suffice to say that it was many things at that time and it continues to be today.

But what it has equated to, what results this not-so-perfect storm has caused, that is for you to judge, even though this type of judgment was not initially part of the plan…

And so it is against the laws of probability and with all of the odds sufficiently damned that I offer to you the following insights into my world.

So…

Any takers?

Chapter 2: Me But Why?

"Armor piercing bullets you say hmm? Hah, do you not know that the storm’s-a-brewin’."

I have quite a few ideas up top but shortly following initiation I tend to just let them float away as mere afterthoughts. Yet like some sort of intellectual boomerang, the same ideas always return to me and thus continually swirl around in my head spreading their tentacles until they reside chiefly everywhere.

They shackle me. They make me feel as if I am soaking wet, weighed down, moving in slow motion against impossibly strong resistance. They plague my consciousness and thus all of my thoughts nearly all of the time.

To simply ignore them would seem to be the healthiest choice.

However…

This not only proves to be an ineffective strategy but it also brings with it accompanying waves of crushing pain and guilt in reaction to this failure to act on my natural impulses which so too infringe on the formation of the focus and motivation that is necessary in order to potentially derive enjoyment, something I may or may not have gained but now will never have the opportunity to even attempt to gain, while doing something legitimate with my life.

But you see lately I have experienced glimpses, visions of what things could have been.

Visions of what things could be.

And these visions…

I can actually see innumerable thoughts take shape around my physical body like armor, first like a gentle breeze enveloping its surroundings gradually increasing in force, then transforming into a powerful gust of wind until finally harnessing the pure potential of its energy, tightening its vice on me, and becoming a full blown natural disaster of epic proportions.

I am the eye of and the ‘i’ in the hurr-i-cane.

I am at the center of it all.

A prisoner encased within impenetrable layers of my own thoughts.

And they are firmly in place, unable to be broken apart.

And I am firmly in their grasp unable to break apart, which incidentally I had never really seen as much of a problem…

That is until quite recently of course.

You see, it was only when these thoughts, these visions, had consumed me so wholly that I was forcibly moved into the drastic action of attempting to release all parties involved from this perpetual cyclical lockdown. There is some type of fitting, paralleling cliché that can be applied here, something about a shell slowly cracking or a thread slowing unraveling, only the saying would need to be adjusted slightly seeing as how neither the shell nor the thread typically explode into fiery passionate flames directly before becoming completely undone.

That was me.

Clearly my fabric was fraying, clearly my shell was cracking: in fact a curiously astute bystander would most likely feel pressed to pose the question of whether or not there was in fact any fabric or shell left at all which, case in point, was an absolutely valid observation given the nature of my situation.

Clearly this fraying, this cracking meant that there would be many victims mixed in with not-so-equal parts of ‘con’ and ‘de’ -struction along the way. Exactly which individuals would be subject to which one of those prefixes, it remained to be seen.

And it was during times like these that I would often wonder to myself, how had things reached this boiling point?

And then I would typically wonder how it was I in fact knew that things had reached that point of combustibility.

Well, the overwhelming, soul-crushing, unbearably powerful and vivid mental sensations that I was frequently subject to, that was one. But even beyond that clear sign, there were several others along the way that had clued me in to this notion.

Signs that seemed to tip the scales, or at the very least seemed to set into motion the inevitable scale-tipping that was yet to come.

Signs like this for instance:

Although I was regularly subject to these mentally stifling perplexities, the same could not typically be said for others within the context of their own lives.

So I was different in that manner.

And being different in that manner is what had shaped me not only into who I was but had also configured my mind so as to operate in the peculiar manner in which it did.

Yes, it was this realization that many of my peers were not subject to the same mental exacerbation or at the very least quite convincingly denied that they were subject to it (which is still quite