Time warp log (a piece of sci-fi only it isn’t fiction)

I write to you from what I am now empirically convinced is the inside of a time warp. Which, to be clear, is an experience and not in fact a container I can exit.

Whatever divinity is at work here won’t answer me, even when offered tobacco and prayer.

Understandably, everything is suspect.

The moon is supposedly moving the tides and reflecting everything, but I’ve been watching it for hours and it continuously displays the same blank lie of a face. Is it not the grand conductor of the grief current? But yet it reflects no hint of blood anywhere.

It can’t be trusted.

Time in here passes extraordinarily slowly. I can’t seem to get out of this day in spite of repeated efforts at closing my eyes and counting all manner of living things. I am afraid that when I see daylight again I’ll be too bitter to attune to its fine fall beauty.

I have searched all my belongings but can’t find the instructions for Manual Mood Shift in Spite of Repeated Daunting.

It is an uncomfortable place, meaning, there is no familiar comfort to give or receive here.

Of utmost peculiarity is the dysfunction of miracles in here. Case studies seem to indicate that the line between life and death itself is weak, somehow faulty. It keeps glitching as one might expect in a light bulb run on too much (or too little) power. Those who are ready to cross over are left wandering the empty halls of disappearing memory, shrinking in adjustable beds. Simultaneously, the landing strip has gone dark, and there is still no orientation, so the new ones are getting lost. And otherwise healthy creatures are being eradicated in places where no war has been declared.

Nothing can be counted on here to go as it should, the very word ‘should’ is becoming a meaningless relativity.

My final noticing is that the sound system in here is bizarre. Things seem either muffled or bubbling, like they are screamed into pillows or uttered while drowning. There is an ongoing coupling of a sharp high keening weep, and a low growling moan. I’m wondering if they are the full emotional vocabulary of the same creature.

And to be forthcoming, I may be that creature.

It’s all quite mysterious. I’m beginning to think the night itself will never end, although the bright empty liar of a moon is in fact very slowly progressing across the sparse and freezing sky.

There is nothing else to report.
That is not accurate…
There are simply no more words.

Author: Adrienne

VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): The Indian activist Gandhi led many peaceful rebellions against oppressive governments, first in South Africa and later in British-controlled India. At first he called his strategy "passive resistance," but later disavowed that term because it had negative implications. He ultimately chose the Sanskrit word satyagraha, meaning "love force" or "truth force." "Truth ('satya') implies love," he said, "and firmness ('agraha') is a synonym for force. 'Satyagraha' is thus the force which is born of truth and love." According to my reading of the astrological omens, Virgo, satyagraha should be your word of power in the coming weeks. Your uprising against the forces of darkness has got to do more than say "no." A fierce, primal yes should be at the heart of your crusade.

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