mr. mxylplyx

I keep having dejavu. I keep having deja vu. I keep having deja vu..........
Why am I in this conference room again? This building, this room, it is familiar. Of course I know the man sitting next to me, and many of the others lining the conference table. Christ i live here! A full life. My life. This table is my job or something. This guy is my colleague, my boss? An abassador? A bureaucrat? Is he my friend? My rival? Do I loath him? (I have known all of these people in this room. It's familiarity stifles me). I am rubbing shoulders with this asshole again. His familiarity with me is the most natural thing in the world. (this whole place is the most familiar place. I'm always here. It is suffocating me). He smiles and chortles funnily at me, this piece of shit, who might be my best friend (I am starting to feel like Ah-nohld's character in Total Recall. Where the fuck am I again?) He sees that something is disturbing me. But no, no, no. It's perfectly alright. Let's go on with the meeting. Nothing is funny. This is what we came here to do. What we always come here to do. Business as usual. (I have never been here before. Why do i know that I have lived my whole life here? I am starting to feel like I've been somewhere else? Is this my universe?).......... . . . .

................Something is off, but I know I'm supposed to be here. I live here. This is me. I don't know where I've been, but something has messed with my mind. Is this my world, or the Total Recall World? I am starting to feel weighed down by it, as the endless chattering keeps pushing on, and in between motioning, and bickering, quibbling, eating, deciding, and chuckling, I am feeling another dimension grafting itself on to me. Am I from here or there? Am I here or there right now? My colleague takes continual note of my fluctuations of depression, exasperation, alienation, worry, and complete and utter normalcy and fluid functioning. Why does he keep smiling that way everytime he notices my exasperation, as if I'm crazy? Well, why shouldn't he be? He's Harry, or Bill, or, or...I don't know. I know him and everybody else like I've known them all for years, but I keep feeling like there's this alien presence in him, in everything, and I cannot trust anything around me. I loath him, and I loath them all. They think that I am their colleague, one of their leaders and facillitators in fact, and i am, yet I know that I am not. No that's not true, I am. I am while i am here, and i have another job, elsewhere. I don't know how i get out of this room, but I am there, in that elsewhere, in another dimension, and ugh, how my friends repulse me at this moment...... . .. . .

.......Everybody is talking, but what are we here to discuss? There is a really strange animalistic feeling to this place, as if it were a den that I was in, of some beast, in a cave, with fur-lined walls, and cave drawings, in the shadows surrounding the meeting table in what looks like a pentagon staffroom. Are we underground, like under a Coca-cola shop in the desert, like in Spy's Like Us? Or are we in a cave? Or in the Pentagon at a meeting to prevent thermonuclear disaster? Terrorists? 9-11? A Deep Impact Extinction Level Event? Are we scientists discussing time travel? Alternate Universes? Utopia? Star Trek? Are we plotting the next global genocide? Cleansing the race? New World Order? Or are we a bunch of useless asshole bureaucrats, arguing about nothing, red tape. traffic ticket revenues, when to order pizza? I don't know. (Maybe we are the UN, about to be threatened by Dr. Evil for a ransom of One- MIIILLION Dollars!!)................ . . . . . .

What the fuck am I doing here again? Why at the same time am I not at all incredulous? Completely comfortable. Like this is where I am everyday. Where else would I be? Why is this idiot, who could very well be the one i get along with and like the most, the one who backs up all of my evil, mundane, non-important, non-sensical bureaucratic decisions, and chuckles with me at the insanity of it all, at the boredom of it, at the ease and fun, at the silliness of the others, and ourselves, and the pleasure it is to have such a wonderful job, that really is like the ninth level of somebody's hell. And why am I always here? I think i hate this guy, my best friend, in his cheap, nice, blue-gray twill suit jacket, the shoulder of which keeps rubbing up against me as he reaches over to stuff his mouth with bagels and cream cheese. Well of course he's eating! There's nothing wrong or odd about that. This life at the bureaucratic table, we do nothing! We pass important laws, figure out ways to save the planet, destroy it, cheat the people, usher in a new age of scientific harmony, or the planet's complete and total annihilation. Whatever. We eat bagles, and order pizza, and fight about traffic ticket revenues, and laugh! It's very boring, and very chaotic, and insane, and all perfectly normal, and what else would we all be doing? I belong here of course, as he does, my friend, and they do, and we all do. Where else would we be? Life revolves around this room, you know, and any life outside of it is poppycock! We have a grand old time in here anyway, you know, though devoid of our souls, and making the world devoid of its soul too. This hell is home, and great in its way, though awful. Besides, we do great things here, and sometimes i feel like there could not be anything more rewarding if we were looking for the cure for children's cancer. After all, we are involved, indirectly, with finding out all of the secrets to life and the universe! But that's really only part of it, and not at all the greatest part. I see it's time to discuss traffic tickets, and that's way more important! How can we get the meter maids to milk the public for every red cent? After all, we've got to put the money in a big black hole, that goes to ending hunger, saving the species, testing weapons, killing the species, and ordering burecratic lunches! This is what it is all about my friend, and as long as we are in this room, we keep the wheels turning. But of course, what else would we be doing? There is nothing else you know, and I've never even thought about anything else before. (Why did I say that? Have I been thinking about something else? Am I here? Why does all of this room feel as if it is someone else's life, that i know as my own? Why do I now suddenly feel that I have seen my life from outside, that I am in it now, but like a stranger in it from elsewhere. Why does this guy next to me seem so familiar, and so out of place? My God waitaminute! I don't come from here at all! I come from another dimension, another planet! My name isn't, whatever my name is. It's Ahhh---, MxYLpLyX, something! And you, you looking at me out of the side of your face, wondering why I'm looking at you so strangely, you blathering burecrat! You're not my best friend! You bastard! You're not my colleague! And after i was so chummy with you! This isn't even my world! Holy shit! Is it? Ohh, something is terribly, terribly off here. I...I don't know what I'm doing here! Again! Damn it. Stop grinning at me you bastard!)........................................................................... . . . .