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Anthony Pateras & Robin Fox, "Coagulate"
Synaesthesia
There is a long dark and wet tunnel ahead of me and at its end is apartially opened door with a faint blue glow pulsing from within:something horrible is happening inside and it scares me. I walk forwardcautiously and peer inside and then each of my senses is assaulted tothe point of death. I am left with only my hearing and tactile sensesto manouevre a large and very dangerous habitat. The dry wheezes ofbroken machinery, the incoherent babble of hyper morons, and the soundof a thousand tiny legs echo and rebound all about me. Distant moansdart down long corridors and bring messages of pain and incomingmisanthropy. There is some shelter, some spaces to breathe in withoutfear of being heard by whatever it is that's out there. Pacifying bellsflow somewhere in the distance and the gentle hum of computers becomesa lullaby for my weary head. Hell is still out there somewhere, though.Before long screams demolish the walls and send chills down my spine.No matter where I run these sounds follow me. My hands press againstthe cold and metallic walls hoping to find some familiar nook or somesemblance of home. There's nothing here that I recognize. This is anutterly alien world. Eventually I fall asleep and those same soundshaunt my dreams only they are perverted. Everything has slowed downwith only momentary stabs of pain. The sound of water dripping to thefloor wakes me and I bathe in it happily: here finally is some relief.I lay back and drift in the clear blue water staring at the sun andwonder to myself: did I ever wake up from that dream? Was I ever evenawake at all?
There is a long dark and wet tunnel ahead of me and at its end is apartially opened door with a faint blue glow pulsing from within:something horrible is happening inside and it scares me. I walk forwardcautiously and peer inside and then each of my senses is assaulted tothe point of death. I am left with only my hearing and tactile sensesto manouevre a large and very dangerous habitat. The dry wheezes ofbroken machinery, the incoherent babble of hyper morons, and the soundof a thousand tiny legs echo and rebound all about me. Distant moansdart down long corridors and bring messages of pain and incomingmisanthropy. There is some shelter, some spaces to breathe in withoutfear of being heard by whatever it is that's out there. Pacifying bellsflow somewhere in the distance and the gentle hum of computers becomesa lullaby for my weary head. Hell is still out there somewhere, though.Before long screams demolish the walls and send chills down my spine.No matter where I run these sounds follow me. My hands press againstthe cold and metallic walls hoping to find some familiar nook or somesemblance of home. There's nothing here that I recognize. This is anutterly alien world. Eventually I fall asleep and those same soundshaunt my dreams only they are perverted. Everything has slowed downwith only momentary stabs of pain. The sound of water dripping to thefloor wakes me and I bathe in it happily: here finally is some relief.I lay back and drift in the clear blue water staring at the sun andwonder to myself: did I ever wake up from that dream? Was I ever evenawake at all?
