A Labyrinth of Dreams

By Nathan Dube

Julian Crane is eighteen years old, a noted deviant with no regard for the rules and a penchant for trouble. After the murder of his grandfather, he leaves his Christian faith opting for the study of occultism and the magical arts. Through experimentation, Julian discovers that through the altered states of lucid dreaming, one can visit the mysterious realm of the seven dream worlds. Upon discovering that both the soul of the dreamer and those of the dead can travel to these mysterious places, Julian reconnects with a beloved deceased friend only to find out that he must face a great evil. Meanwhile in waking life, Julian finds that he is being hunted by an unknown enemy. With the help of his lover Mary Rivers and his comrades the Melanson brothers, Julian goes on a mutual quest of magic and dreams in search of meaning in a world that has left him disillusioned and emotionally broken. Through adventures in both waking life and the realm of dreams, Julian will discover the secrets of life, death and spirituality while simultaneously learning the true nature of the creator of the universe and his place within it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nathan Dube
• Release date: Dec 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370112883

Nathan Dube

I am a musician, artist, digital marketing specialist, and author.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Julian

And so it comes to this...

Julian sat against the cool sidewalk cement of an October evening, the sun fading behind the old colonial buildings near the Inn outside of town on West Main Street. As he came back to himself, Julian analyzed the silhouettes of the pines and the sharp triangular rooftops of the houses painted black with the dark of dusk.

Julian was only eighteen, but after such an experience he battled with the war torn will of an old man. Still shaken but determined to collect himself, he at least attempts to piece together how this event was even possible. Taking off in a tired but confident stride, he began to walk in the direction of his home with eager hopes to abandon his ideas to the pages of his journal, letting his mind drift to the last rays of sunlight setting upon the ancient trees of Stallion Hill.

Julian walked this path thousands, perhaps even millions of times by this point in his life. A road in the boonies of a small New England town, each side of the street leading up to his childhood home, forming a tunnel of vegetation on both sides composed of oaks and tall spruce, dotted with the occasional birch.

The trees seemed to emit energy, a life force which transcended the standard biological definition of what a plant is and should be. The oak, old and wise, the pine pulsing with the spells of earthen spirits and then of course, the birches, which by way of his fondness for Robert Frost connected directly to his heart.

Indeed, he spent many a day of his youth traversing paths which lead into the depths of the forest, filled with wonder and imagination and those rare occasions of fear when he found himself lost within the labyrinths of long abandoned logging trails.

Those days had their own kind of enchantment, their own spiritual vibration. The years before the loss of innocence and the murder of his grandfather... Ah yes, in some ways the magic of those years had been the most potent of all.

How trivial, he thought to himself?

After all, it was his mother who first taught him about the magical arts. Yes, the evocation of the elf people and of the old man of the snowy realm. Julian laughed at the irony of the fact his parents both scorned the taboo of becoming pagan and yet, his transformation was a manifestation of their own actions.

Julian came to a fork in the road and turned on to Roger's Lane, now only a few minutes from the comfort of his parent's living room. Julian glanced at the mighty trunk where the crossroads met and again his mind drifted to his past.

Around the age of five, his dear mother Sheri opened his subconscious to the universe of Holiday Magic. On a cold November morning, Julian's father took him out to breakfast at Dwyer's Diner in Dudley and for a ride on his favorite route along the quiet corner of Connecticut.

Before leaving, she explained to him the story of Saint Nicholas, a wizard of sorts who manages a cohort of elven craftsmen, working in an invisible land veiled by enchantments in the North Pole. This wonderful man, a blessing to all people of all lands the world over, possessed the wizardry of the season of which he used to travel the globe by the cover of night.

At his command, this legion of sacred beings which live hidden among us, shrouded by an unknown sorcery, move throughout the woodlands and reside in the astral. With their help and by his guiding hand, he masters powerful incantations to morph through time and space and bestow blessings to the light-workers of the earth and their children, those people who served others with kindness and love.

This timber at the apex of the road, now lying in his footsteps reminded him of this, now only moments from the end of his driveway.

Julian remembered how amazing and beautiful the story is, how intense an influence on his own life it held, asking his mother a deluge of questions including, "will he come here on Christmas, mom? Will these elves come to us as well? Julian remembered his eyes glowing, his hope as clear as crystal, he relished the sensation of emotion slipping over his mind and body as he turned the key in the French doors of the beautiful a-frame in the grove where he grew up and still, his memory wandered...

Of course, shouted Sheri! The holy man of the northern sphere and his elves will visit you my son! These creatures move in the shadows, in secret, only coming out at night under the shining stars, bestowing gifts during the hours of our dreams while we sleep, she explained.

So we won't meet them, asked Julian? Well now that you're old enough, the elven folk must show themselves, continued Sheri! Will they, he asked with a sense of joy bold enough to move the mountains only faith should be able to uproot? Yes, exclaimed Sheri, they will come! When will they come, asked the boy, eyes bulging with the reflections of candles burning on the mantel?

Soon my darling, answered Sheri...

And how soon indeed! In the afternoon, just hours after their breakfast and ride in the old Ford pickup, Julian returned home.

The cold stone walkway lay under a dusting of snow covering the yard, making the pines sparkle as though covered in a glaze of powdered sugar. Julian climbed the steps of his front porch to the same French doors he now closed behind him. He ran upstairs to the sanctuary of his bed, crashing on his mattress, letting his thoughts drift from memory to dream, carrying a similar narrative into the astral plane of his imagination.

Once again, at age five he found himself waiting for his father to unlock the door. Forgetting the conversation with his mother several hours ago, his focus taken by other ideas, he stepped through the closed curtain walked into the living room and peered upwards.

Elves! Sprites of all shapes and sizes, tucked between the rocks of the stone fireplace his grandfather built with his own two hands, each of them with their own unique expressions and outfits of multicolored bits of felt, buttons and hats!

Wow, exclaimed Julian! The elven folk are real! The words escaping his mouth as his mind and imagination flooded with the potent magic of his youth.

Suddenly, the door in Julian's room opened, snapping him back to reality, his mother entering the room with some force and tempered anger. Julian, where are you spending your afternoons, asked Sheri? You no longer call when you are supposed to, she spouted in a flustered tone.

Julian's mother Sheri, a short woman with dirty blond hair and skinny physique stared at him. Sheri wore dish washing gloves and an apron around her waist which smelled of roasted chicken and smoke from burnt mashed potatoes.

Julian turned to her, looking up from his bed and replied; well mom, I’ve been hanging out by the river on the old logging trails near the museum tripping on mushrooms.

Damn it Julian, don't say that, said Sheri while covering her brim with a shaking hand, her tone attempting to avoid condemnation!

Sheri's stress level with her son had reached a boiling point and she refused to take this honesty from him which she remembered asking for a few weeks prior. Her work wearied brain shuttered at the thought of the response that Julian just gave to her question.

Julian smiled and spoke saying; last time we talked you told me you wanted the absolute truth, no lies...

No yelled Sheri, half shouting, I don't want you doing those things! Yeah I understand mom, but like I told you, I am going to do them regardless, but I will honor your admonition to be honest about my activities, answered Julian with a suppressed grin suggesting sarcasm in light of his mother's anger.

Sheri glared at Julian, half sickened with a strange mixture of irritation and fear and yet also, an odd sense of respect for the blatant and disturbing truth Julian invested upon her. Most sons would never say these things to their mothers, she reminded herself.

I don't want drugs in my house, said Sheri turning around at the end of her sentence and closing the door. Sheri mumbled to herself about how Julian is his father's son as she descended the stairs. Julian laughed to himself but began to evoke guilt, not wanting to hurt or concern his mother or father, he did his best

Julian's parents managed to live through the sixties; they understood where the mind may go and what incredible dangers awaited him, the potential terror lurking in the shadow of his personal sphere should a psychedelic foray into inner space go south. Tobias laid out his own entheogenic nightmares thousands of times before in an attempt to curb Julian's habits.

Of course Tobias's (Julian's father) experiences are the product of his upbringing in a conservative Christian home with parents who broke the major tenants of the faith they professed to believe.

Julian pondered this as he walked downstairs through the living room and into the kitchen where his mother diced onions and peppers for an accompaniment to the steak tips sizzling in the skillet on the old stove top.

Love you mom, said Julian as he slipped out the back door towards the old shed in the back yard. Julian listened to the blare of rock and roll at a volume of which his mother considered to be blasting at decibels far exceeding necessity, emanating from his father's work space…

For a Christian, his dad's choice in music was overtly secular. The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, etc. Julian attributed this to the fact that his father was an artist and art was (in Julian's opinion) a form a magic itself. To him, this made some sense.

Julian walked to the old work shed; painted red with white trim on the doors adding to the illusion of a miniature barn. Tobias stopped his obsessive cleaning technique which he employed on the lawnmower, making the machine appear brand new.

Julian’s father reached down and turned the music low, cutting off one of Robert Plants evocative shrieks. Smiling, he said, hey Jules how are you? Oh, I think you are aware, replied Julian with a slight grin.

Tobias's smile faded as he eyed Julian. Your mother told me what did today; we don't want you to doing drugs he said in a stern voice. That is why I am not here all day responded Julian with a widening grin, taking chances with his father's patience.

Tobias glared at his son, attempting to appear condescending and angry as the grin Julian wore moments ago now spread across his own lips. I understand you are experimenting, I’ve been there, at seventeen I used psychedelics as well, but they... Are dangerous interrupted Julian in a mock tone similar to his dad's voice. Yeah, I got you, I realize what happened to you, explained Julian.

Julian ran over the story he heard his father tell him in warning so many times before. Around the same age as Julian, Tobias dropped some sunshine LSD and found himself in a hellish wasteland complete with full spectrum visual and audio manifestations of demonic entities, causing him to panic and run strait through a glass door in front of his parents, injuring himself and landing him at the hospital in a haze of embarrassment and psychological terror.

Anything could happen to you to Julian, drugs are so unpredictable, explained Tobias. Julian managed a weak chuckle turning his head away and back to his father saying; I can't help but think your experience is a product of your own subconscious fears, of your God burning you in hell for eternity for being a disgusting unrepentant sinner.

Tobias shot back with a comment about being on the wrong road in life when he was young and how Jesus saved him from his poor decisions in the aftermath of returning home from the hospital, forever changing his life. Julian thought to himself as he hummed along with the final chorus of stairway to heaven playing on the stereo next to them.

Jesus loves you Julian. You made a commitment at five years old. Julian laughed in a colder, darker, more sarcastic tone replying, yeah dad, I also bought into the belief of Santa Clause and the elves as well.

Julian, Jesus... loves me spat Julian, again finishing his father's sentence. I love Jesus, we are cool. It's his genocidal, homicidal, hateful prick of a father I can't stand, said Julian half shouting. What, asked Tobias, in anger and confusion? I'm sorry dad, but I can't square Christ with the God of the Old Testament, said Julian as he turned, walking away back to the house.

Julian turned around while still taking fast steps towards the back porch, looking at his father he said, seriously dad, Yahweh is a fucking psychopath.

The next morning, Julian awoke staring at the ceiling of his room. The first rays of light casting beams through the dust of his personal space and blanketing the posters of musicians, visionary art and random concert flyers he posted upon the doors of his closet. Seven AM, he thought to himself as he reached over to shut off the annoying chime of his alarm clock. Time to go to school he chuckled.

Julian raised himself out of bed, stumbling nude to his dresser. Opening a drawer, he put on underwear and socks followed by a black T-Shirt with a white Metatron's Cube logo front and center. Julian then grabbed the blue jacket from India his mother bought him for Christmas last year and a necklace with an amethyst pendent.

He dabbed some Lucky Mojo Good Luck Oil on his neck and placed the small vial back where it came from among the framed pictures of his family, his German sheppard and his girlfriend Mary.

Next to the photos sat a glass jar containing high grade organic marijuana which he had taken to indulging in before the previous night's sleep. He snatched the jar and hid the container in a secret compartment in the back of the top drawer.

Julian walked downstairs to the bathroom, opened the door, flicked on the light and looked at himself in the mirror.

Julian stood six feet tall with wide shoulders. He was not traditionally handsome per say but possessed some attractive attributes. Curly, shoulder length brown hair framed a defined and chiseled face with dark brown eyes.

He wore his facial hair shaved into a thin French style mustache and a broad soul patch under his lower lip. He weighed about thirty to forty pounds more than he should, something he became self-conscious of but never told anyone. Furthermore, only his stomach had the extra meat and he wore it well.

Julian brushed his teeth, applied deodorant and halfheartedly combed his hair and let the curls fall where they may. Pleased as he would be with his appearance, he turned and walked out while closing the door about half way behind him.

Julian passed the kitchen table on which rested a note, handwritten by his father. Julian, let's talk some time, just us, I love you... You too dad, Julian thought to himself, feeling a spike of pain and resentment for his comments the day before.

If nothing else, he knew his father understood him and loved him, both of his parents did. Which made his open and honest foray into the vast world of magic and free style shamanism more complicated than it would be if they ostracized him like most Christian adults would. Their parenting style was complicated and messy and Julian loved his parents for that.

Julian reached down and wrote in bold letters, love you dad dropping the pen on the paper, grabbing his notebook and backpack and striding out of the front door, closing it behind him.

Julian got into his car, a 1999 Chevy cavalier. A matte red finish and spoiler on the back hardly complimented the large dent in the door he made when not paying attention to a concrete pillar near the gas pump he parked next to last Friday.

The door closed as he grasped the seat belt, buckling with one hand and turning the key with the other, he checked the rear view mirror, spoke a soft prayer and threw the car in reverse. Julian backed out of the driveway, turned right and drove down the lower portion of stallion hill.

Julian turned onto Main Street with a sharp left and began his journey to Tantasqua High School. He laughed under his breath, remembering the Native American word Tantasqua translated to tits or rather, hills resembling a woman's breast. Not sure what they had been thinking when they named the school, he said to himself.

Julian continued down Main Street, the sun coming up over the tree line highlighting them in almost an identical manner to the evening before; he passed the local coffee shop, the Cumberland farms and the briar patch, a country store which sold gourmet home furnishings, antiques and the like.

Sturbridge is filled with eclectic shops of a similar design and Julian read the names of the businesses as he passed them taking a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of the handmade sign of the copper stallion, a pub with a dark lit dining room, a long bar and beautiful wooden shelves stocked with top shelf whiskeys and craft beer.

Julian turned right by Fred's variety store and began the final leg of the trip to school. Passing by waves of large pine trees, cookie cutter modern colonial style homes and some original houses of the same design dating back over a one hundred years.

Julian pulled into the parking lot of the school, stopping as close as possible to the stone walk way leading up to the large foyer of the prison like monolith of the High School.

The building truly appeared to be some strange amalgamation of a shopping mall and a high security facility and yet, in light of all of its impending disciplinary nature, cutting class was all too easy.

Today, Julian decided to enter the building and spend the day inside, but he would not be attending classes. Oh no, he would be hiding himself in a nook in the library as he commonly did, researching those dynamics of life which he so adored.

Skipping past the un-watchful eyes of the elderly and somewhat incoherent librarian, Julian made a swift yet silent b-line for his corner of the room, a place of which others never visited. This back section of the large room framed with two huge book cases had a comfy chair and a small table where Julian would devour books on world religion, spirituality, magic and witchcraft.

As they had at least another hour or so before class began, Julian knew he had some downtime before he needed to worry about being discovered and kicked out, in which case, he would leave and seek other adventures for the day.

The school owned a great collection of works on the world religions including taboo topics such as Wicca, Santeria and some other lesser known spiritual ideologies. As he already read all the school's offerings, Julian would bring his own collection of tomes on meditation, creative visualization and other occult paradigms with which he came by for cheap at the wonderful Book Bear rare book store in West Brookfield.

Today however, Julian was not concerned with reading esoteric literature but rather working on his own. Just then, Chris Galt sat down across from the small table in the nook where Julian began taking out his notebooks and pens. What's up man, asked Chris? Hey brother, how are you, asked Julian? Good man, I'm good. I came here early this morning to take a retest for sociology and noticed your car in the lot, figured I would find you here.

Chris was tall, even taller than Julian with short blonde hair and glasses which sat upon a round tipped nose placed between freckled cheeks.

So what are you up to, asked Chris; Magic stuff? Chris looked at Julian with eyes glowing. Several weeks ago Julian discussed the magical arts with Chris at a party at one of their mutual friend's houses and Chris, while skeptical at first, indulged in a session of Google searches based around some of the things Julian spoke of and found he was intrigued by the topic.

Yes replied Julian, taking out a sheet of typed words on plain stock paper, the sheets stapled in the upper left corner. Cool, like sigils or talismans, asked Chris? No, a story about an LSD trip I took a couple years ago upon which, I think I may have accidentally invoked a demon, answered Julian yawning.

Aw, that’s not magic man, it’s just writing, said Chris with an instant air of disappointment. Writing IS magic Chris; all art and creative endeavors are a form of magic, retorted Julian. Writing isn’t magic replied Chris dryly.

Of course it is, exclaimed Julian! Why do you think they call the formation of words spelling he asked? At the drop of this perspective, Chris could not help but to smile. Julian gave Chris a wry grin suggesting perhaps he knew things Chris did not.

Here, read this, demanded Julian excitedly as he handed Chris the document. Chris took the papers and looked down, reading the words upon them.

"Well, I was 15 years old at the time, a spiritual seeker, rebellious hellion and an outright and obvious hippie. I spent my days skipping class either stoned on marijuana, playing guitar or taking long walks through the woods conversing with nature and God, or staying on school grounds sneaking into dark nooks of the library to avoid the prying eyes of authority figures, studying subjects actually worth studying.

Yes, that’s right…

I would skip hours, sometimes entire days of school and actually stay in the building, tucked into a corner of the library pouring over books about Buddhism, Christianity, world religions and spirituality alike. Not unlike the young man in the never ending story, I started at a young age, immersing myself in secret occult teachings that would one day lead me on grand adventures. Some in reality, some within worlds inside my own head and a few that bridge the gap between both realms.

This particular journey was the most intense of the later kind of adventure mentioned above that I have ever had. Now don’t get me wrong, I had prepared for this experience for months. For about two years I had been experimenting with various psychedelics and entheogens, each projecting a plethora of both light and dark experiences and each having their own vast dynamics of psychonaughtics as is common with such inner journeying.

I was quite familiar with coming in contact with egregores, spirits and archetypes manifesting in audio/visual emanations, cloaked in intense other worldly fractal patterns. These two oddities of the psychedelic experience, blending through synesthesia and causing me at once holy awe and at times, dark trepidation of various flavors would have me bordering on insanity and/or ecstatic illumination.

What happened to me on that particular journey though is so far beyond any experience I have had thus far, that it will indeed be a bit complex for me to extrapolate in the words below just what happened. That being said, after a few years of analyzing and going over every lasting detail in conjunction with about five years of occult studies and about four years of magical practice…

I believe that I have finally figured out just what the fuck happened on that fateful day…

It was a somewhat gloomy afternoon in New England during the humid month of late august. The night before, my friend who we will call Mark (lest he provide me with permission to use his real name) and I had both taken one dose of some rather reMarkable LSD. A single hit of this spiderman (the blotter having a rather convincing image of said superhero’s face imposed upon it) brought a rather wonderful and ecstatic sense of psychedelia, both in body and mind, projecting visuals of fractal patterns and geometric shapes alike, seemingly embossed upon our very souls and also upon the surface of every physical object our eyes blanketed with attention.

Yes, the first foray with this particular devil was nothing short of all the beauty that a positive psychedelic experience should have. Psychological, spiritual, emotional and physical phenomenon bathed within the light of friendship and mutual intentions as Mark and I had been graced with the wonderful presence of some of my best friends of my teen years. The now famous Etienne Pierre Duguay and my lovely girlfriend Mary had been in our company on the same level as Mark and I.

During those days it was rather customary for us to spend nights in the heights of marijuana and or more intense entheogenic substance’s grips while parading around the premier fancy hotel of our community. Indeed the presence of a pool with a faux tropical plant garden, arcade, lake and miniature golf course had served my youth for years and yet, it was the beautiful psychedelic mindfuck of LSD that gave me the true appreciation of such a building. The most inspiring elements of said organization being the already overly psychedelic carpets strung throughout the entirety of the monolith. It is fair to say that Hunter S. Thompson would have been proud of me and my comrade’s gross disrespect and at the same time, sever reverence of this unintentional hall of psychonaughtic exploration.

In fact I still educate the strange idea of sending a thank you letter to the owner of said establishment to thank him/her for the wonderful carpeting as it so enhanced the intensity of our harmless psychedelic meandering within the hotels halls.

And so, the night previous to the insane day of psychedelic torment following, myself and my friends wandered both literal and metaphoric temples, one dedicated to physical hospitality, the other dedicated to psychological equivalents.

And yet, all good things must come to pass…

As mentioned before, this one specific day, cast in the shadow of an enlightening foray into the blissful antithesis of the abyss, Mark and I found ourselves awakening to a new day. With only a trivial amount of sleep we awoke with a still beaming sense of joy from the night prior…

A slight yet palpable darkness greeted my waking eyes. It was of course, the realization that the skies had been filled with clouds rather than sun. A byproduct of our late afternoon awakening of course…

Now this seemingly lazy Sunday afternoon afoot, I was a bit unprepared for Mark’s suggestion as follows…

Let’s just split the rest of it. What, I asked in my initial response, at once filled with fear and longing for such a ridiculous concept made manifest? Yeah man, let’s just split it and go out and about (is a fair paraphrase of the response I was given). My first reaction (at least with in my own mind) no… and yet my mouth halfheartedly and fully invoking the prankster’s ideal responding, OK.

We each dropped five hits, feeling the layers of the chemical melt off the paper in our mouths. Instantly I could tell this was going to be a serious trip and my initial feelings of trepidation while still present, began to fade.

As we waited to for the chemical to take hold and initiate us into another psychedelic journey, we decided to make our way across town to my friend Andrew’s parent’s apartment. Andrew and his parents being out of town that weekend provided a chance to hang out with his older brother Jeffery who had free reign of the place for the next week or so. So after a twenty minute walk, we found ourselves outside of the apartment.

Mark and I entered the apartment to find that my friend had some of his other friends over as well. As he was part of a subculture from Worcester, MA that involved a lot of influence from Hip Hop that emphasized casual sex, continual intoxication and a disregard for general moral values, I was not surprised to find them in a rather odd situation regarding Facebook instant messenger.

One of Jeffery’s friends had convinced a girl that he was her boyfriend operating under a different Facebook name and had said he was breaking up with her. This seemed to cause the girl great distress and my friend’s friends thought the situation was hilarious, especially as she became more and more desperate for a reason, begging for an explanation which as far as I know, was never given.

I am very much so an empath and I felt bad for the girl, in conjunction with the shitty weather outside, the beginning phase of the trip was feeling murky and a bit uncomfortable.

Mark and I sat down next to a window fan and AC unit as it was humid outside. We started zoning out to our own little world and for a bit, things got better, I felt positive and we laughed at random events for no reason other than the presence of the chemical in our systems.

Over the course of the next 30 minutes, the effects began to intensify. Everything in the room took on a kind of plastic visual effect, objects began to grow or shrink in size randomly and the body sensation was becoming very noticeable, sort of as if we had been under water or floating in space.

Looking at any surface, such as a wall, floor or coffee table, I noticed that very intricate, animated, evolving, multifaceted and multicolored fractal patterns would form upon any surface that I looked at for more than a moment. Mark confirmed he was experiencing the same phenomenon which was a common experience with LSD for the both of us with prior experiences as well.

For a while, this entertained us enough, we had entered the magical realm once again, crossed the gate into the unknown and for a bit it was exciting and positive as usual. After about twenty minutes however, the air seemed to become thick, as if it was a viscous fluid, like melted jello. Both Mark and I attempted to hold on to positivity, but it waned, leading eventually to an uncomfortable sense of overbearing perception alteration that made us both feel uneasy.

Mark looked over to me and tried to explain that the sound of the fan behind us was creating a visual hallucination of his tongue cutting him in half and asked if I was experiencing the same thing. At this point I was having trouble understanding his words, but we were at the beginning of a process where we would be speaking telepathically. While I did not understand what he was saying, nor was I feeling what he was, I could understand on a level beyond normal communication and shook my head no to his question.

Suddenly, My friend’s friend put on some death metal and raised the volume rather high. This was not the kind of music I would ever choose to listen to while on a psychedelic substance, particularly when the experience had already become difficult, bordering on the negative.

Both Mark and I did our best to be cool about it, but within a minute or so, it had become too intense. We then decided despite the fact it looked like it was about to rain, we would go hang out on the small back porch overlooking my friend’s yard. Walking past the computer where the music was coming from, I watched the screen morph from the normal desktop image to that of Christ bleeding upon the cross in front of a legion of demons chanting while holding pitchforks and torches.

This was an omen of the kind of things to come and it set me on a downward spiral that despite my best efforts, I could not resist.

Once we got outside onto the porch, there was some relief as the music was mostly muted once the door closed behind us. The Porch was very small but psycho-spiritually comfortable compared to the inside of the apartment, at least at first.

Leaning on the edge of the porch railing, I looked into the backyard. It was August and all the trees were full of green leaves. There was also large spiraling vines and other forms of vegetation throughout the yard. Each and every leaf of each and every plant suddenly manifested an eye upon it, closed at first and then in unison, opening, the pupils of each eye following me and my movements.

I thought this somewhat cool at first, but quickly, this became unnerving so I decided to sit down on the deck and just stare at the floor boards. Once again, there were amazingly complex, moving, animated fractal patterns upon the floorboards. Watching them for an indeterminate amount of time, I started to notice a strange phenomenon. The pattern would move and evolve, changing shapes and colors and eventually, a line would appear down the center of my vision and the two half’s of my view would split apart like a door.

When this occurred, a deeper, richer, more complicated more mechanical pattern would reveal itself until again, my vision would split in two and the process would repeat. This was pretty cool at first, but after a while, the patterns became so advanced