Raw terror in your bones' bones.

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

When I was a freshman in college (and a momentously more foolish person than I am now sarcasm) I decided to fuck class (not literally) and spend this beautiful fall day on a local trail that I spend way too little time exploring (and I spend way too much time talking about woods(and using parenthesis(see how deep we can go(I'm like four layers in now)))).  This particular trailhead is in a pretty dense set of woods in the middle of a larger natural area that's miles and miles from them city folk and their buildin's.

When you think of the perfect autumn day, or rather when I think of that perfect autumn day, I think of the weather on that day. It was sublime. Crispy crunchy air and cracky leaves and a few birds raising hell here and there. You know how things are.

So, I arrive at this trail and my car is the only one there. That's a bonus. Not that it really matters here though. The trail itself is a four mile loop with the back of said loop touching this absofuckinglutely beautiful small hidden lake. You ever see Bob Ross paint those pictures of hidden lakes in the middle of nowhere? That's what this lake is like. It's a gem.

So, I'm in a fantastic mood and everything is just clicking. The walk is brisk and the sun is at the perfect angle for lightplay on the leaves and I can't emphasize how primo things really are. Then I see the guy with the rifle standing right in the middle of the trail, not moving, and looking directly at me.

It's wisconsin and it's fall, so that means hunting. But this area is restricted to hunters. I'm at the top of this hill and I can see the trail kind of weaves down where this guy is standing. He's not moving at all. He sees me. It's very odd behavior.

So, there's an instant click in my brain that something's a little wonky here and that sunlight starts to look ugly and saturated and the bare trees are depressing as hell with a few red leaves hanging onto them and every bird call is a pissed off crow who can't find a berry or a bug to grub on. And there's this gatekeeper down the hill, blocking my way with a very menacing piece of hardware, an elephant gun or a .22, it makes no difference.

I found myself continuing to take steps as adrenaline chills my body temp and oozed sweat into my palms. The guy was Hmong. I remember this big news story about some whities getting into bad spirits with some hmong guy in the woods and he shot one or more of the whities. Why am I thinking of this now?

Regardless, his behavior is becoming more and more disturbing. This isn't cultural difference here. It's murderous intent. It's surely some kind of uncomprehending staredown where he's deciding where it would be juicier for the bullet to lodge itself in myself while his self enjoys my writhing agony in the leaves. Crunch crunch.

I'm twenty feet away and my heart is in rhythmic hell. It's probably unwarranted, I don't really think I'm about to die, but what if? Isn't this exactly how these things happen. Kid walks two miles back into the woods without telling anyone where he's going. Kid meets gunman who is trying to hide from authorities. Kid gets shot and left for dead on the coast of this gem of a lake that he only wanted to see instead of spending time in nice comfortable academia where the only concern of getting shot is from that crazy kid that nobody talks to.

And then I'm past the guy. He didn't move. I had to walk around him. His gun is still pointed towards god and his creepy fuck you expression is still painted on. This is the hard part. My back spasms and twitches, waiting for the bullet, wondering where it's going to exit. Wondering if it will at all.

If I run, I'm fucked.

So I compensate and do a subtle speed walk. A half skip waltz where I drag my shoes in the leaves and take deep breaths. I'm two miles back in the woods, at the very halfway point.
I'm out of sight of the gunman and I spend a little of that adrenaline. I fucking bolt. There's no time to enjoy the lake. Hell, I might never again enjoy it.

And then, I'm in my car, driving away, shaking at nothing.
It's funny how you can talk yourself into things so easily.
How about you?

[Socks]

Yeah man those are always scary. That feeling you describe, of not knowing what is behind you, and anticipating the pain, the blow, it is hell. I remember once I ran into a junkie, as I jogged a nearby trail. He was still, staring open mouthed, making a low groan. What disturbed me was that he was looking at me, but he was seeing right through me and into some other world, dimension, where his mind was and how he perceived things. For all I know, I could have been a ghost to him, a phantom or spirit. The thing was that this was a bend, and I was not going to turn around, because that would be too cowardly, and I had no idea what lay ahead, so I just continued with my pace and sort of went around him, hoping for the best and that he did not make any sudden moves, because I am not trying to scuffle with a homeless man on heroin in the middle of the woods. Thankfully he was too fucked up to do anything and I just bolted into oblivion.

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

Yeah, but what's so incredible is that immediate shift of perspective. It's like hitting a button. Instantaneous.

[Socks]

Yeah, but what's so incredible is that immediate shift of perspective. It's like hitting a button. Instantaneous.

the most elaborate & incredible form of 'fuck!' ever. my heart goes in my throat but my decisions become as sharp as knives, and the dice is rolled, the most incredible rush known, of life and death--maybe.

[??????]

sometymes~*~**~ i think my was very slow and MILD NOT WILD compared to the spontaneity of yours


I was with a group of eccentric friends, their heads clouded and swelled with conspiracies in a blue, worn out room. It was one of those rooms a well-off, grumpy and messy teenager would have...except they were 25, so you can imagine what went on in that room. Anyways, their stories started to kindle my past obsessions with conspiracies. We started to share theories, nod in agreement, sometimes even have some of our anger give off a slight tinge in our voices that it made what we were talking about more 'authentic'. Time melted our boundaries, and the need for security skyrocketed as the sense of it was quickly being eaten by "malicious" intent imposed by the 'Other'.
Soon, a vibration funnel buzzed faintly throughout our heads--I didn't know what it was, and neither did my friends, but all of them assumed it was an attempt of 'mind-control'. I saw myself quickly becoming afraid and began to laugh at myself, knowing that my altered and resurrected beliefs gave such heavy meaning to that strange sound. My dead beliefs tied stringed knowledge of the Illumanti to it, or Big Brother. But I settled down quickly after that, knowing that I was getting too attached to the paranoia around me and stopped myself.

But it was amusing to see my friends desperately wanting to protect themselves with the use of tin foil.