[A composition improvised from words in Philip K Dick’s Confessions of a Crap Artist.]
I found myself facing a woman that I had laid eyes on before. In some respects the woman seemed to be breathtakingly beautiful, but if your gaze took in all of her, she left you completely overwhelmed. Her large brown eyes stared at me so hard and fixedly with strong and intense authority that was I unable to break away from her gaze. It made my head flap open and hum with this terrible noise, like the loudest whistles I have ever heard, and absolutely deafened, I had a terrible, odd, weak, and tight feeling, almost unable to breathe, as if I was conscious that my forehead was too small, fragmented, constricted by sinus inflammation and about to burst.
'I had to contact you' she said 'and get you aware that there is something wrong. Outdoors last week, I was conscious of people talking in a facetious tone about various articles printed in newspapers about a woman that meets people in order to hypnotize them.' Without another word she got a newspaper. After reading a clipping to me she said 'You see. You are fundamentally out of your mind not to see what is not an illusion: your world will explode from a build-up of reality. There are superior beings who open your head every night, directing cosmic radiation to kick your subconscious and get sadistic pleasure. They don't give a god damn what it is you want'
I was ready to show my incredulity and initiate a terrible fit, but my lips were too small in proportion to what she, the spokesman that declares my destiny, had said. So I nodded and said nothing. The reason I had been so constricted was that I had been standing there before. She had been entering my head every night to hypnotize me.
I cried in the cold for a million years and never even knew what this attack was on my heart. In many respects what she said was garbage whipped together. But her eyes didn't kill me, and by god, you know, when the time comes, I'll kill her, that warped creep, that psychopath from another planet, even. I'll kill her. I'll kill her with a mystical sense of triumph when my sightings across her forehead are reflected in my eyes. She is what opens my head every night with a fire that consumed and then put out my universe like a cigarette because she is my missing children's father reflected back in my sightings. The only one who can save me from that fucking woman right now is another psychopath breathtakingly panting from carrying out the act in triumph. By god, to kill her, and to awake transfigured from hypnotic suggestion into an eternity of spiritual salvation in a tomb, burning with the conviction to die to save us both from our lives.
