| Walking down the aisle of a supermarket, something shivers through existence and suddenly every item on every shelf is a black and white television set showing a guerrilla expose - footage we're not supposed to see. Rows and rows of cattle at an abattoire, screaming (as loud as if you were sitting there in their mouth) as they are randomly executed by what seems a highly inhumane method - a hand-carried, trigger-pulled x-ray generator, with a business end curved glass like a sideless tv or monitor. But the disquieting element is not the device but the wielders, large disshapen human beings with small, vestigial faces on the front of their heads but fat, swollen upside-down ones on the tops, floating in fluid eyes shut but smiling beneath a semitransparent membrane. A voice-over identifies these as "buboes." Many of these are laughing-gurgling as they open the heads of the cattle, removing the brains of the screen-stunned cows. Further down the line, a buboe, joking around, lifts out a mess of brains and lifts it up placing it on top of its own head, where human brains would be if the hideous second face wasn't there instead. Some of the buboes have burst, second faces oozing out like the contents of smashed eggs.
Back in the supermarket. That was a strange image - but it is having aftereffects. Every item on the shelf is now a box of cereal featuring the same image of a laughing buboe. Other people in the market are shaking their heads and I realise that everyone in the room with me just experienced what I had. Then all the aisles are back to normal, stocked as usual. It occurs to me that I've got to get online and determine if this was a localised or global psychic phenomenon, though I never for a minute consider verifying with a fellow shopper. Another blink and the cereal boxes are back, another grainy and distorted image on their surface, unintelligible like a tv-set with v-hold problems but presumably also pertaining to the bizarre sequence witnessed. And again, everything restored to normal, with dazed crowds again shaking off sleep. This switching of the markets' contents suggests to me that someone with control over what we perceive was just hacked three times in a row, each successive time to lesser effect but demonstrating to me that our subjective reality is a (tragically Matrix-like) constructed illusion. The firm restoral of normality with no explanation ("mass hysteria, folks!") reassures me that we weren't supposed to see that, and I wonder what cover-up is responsible. Then I speculate on the similarity between shopping aisles and long rows of veal-fattening cage-pens along a killing floor, and (admittedly somewhat illogically) conclude that if we are not supposed to know, it is because we are in fact the cattle, being obscenely slaughtered moment on moment by these hideous caricatures of men, and that our entire reality is a distraction utilized to draw our attention away from the stench of death surrounding us as we are indiscriminately picked out and our cow-brains harvested.
Then I roll out of bed, body radiating enormous quantities of heat, and slither online to let the world know before this glimpse of the truth fades from my delicious brain.
(ew. I wonder if Philip K. Dick or David Icke experienced these kinds of nightmares...)
(and gosh, somehow the bizarre fake-reality aspect of this hits home and makes it seem so much worse than the already horrific enough and probably-quite-similar - barring the two-faced man-monsters and TV guns - process by which beef is brought to our dinner table. Like, not only are we being raised for fodder - but worse yet, we're being /lied to/ about it. I wonder if that's what Plato might call a golden lie.)
This diction pleases me mightily. I should write more often when snapped suddenly out of stage 5 sleep.
in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden... | 
