Hello folks, my name is False_Nate, and I’m here to bring you some posts about metal-type stuff. I used to do some posts on Oculus Infernus in which I talked about my misadventures with extreme metal while using hallucinogens. I don’t do that so often anymore, so you won’t just have that type of post from me, but this is the last one that was supposed to go onto OI, before it grew stagnant. – NS

Nothingness. Oneness. Complete, bodiless omniscience. The serum has never done this before… Though I suppose this isn’t the same concoction. I suppose I shall give you readers some context, though I can’t be certain if it’s the correct context. I was recommended Between the Buried and Me’s latest “Parallax II,” by my good friend Mr. Jimmy Rowe of Heavy Blog is Heavy. I was skeptical, having not held much interest in the group since their opus “Colors.” I decided to try a more potent serum, one introduced to me by a close friend — a military-grade serum our country’s armed forces have been working on in their efforts to establish transportational technologies.

O, accursed drought, why have you brought me here? No portal, no describable visuals, only nothingness. Nothingness, and the occasional cavalcade of explosions, covering all of the color spectrum. There is nothing solid; nothing lasting. The most I can hold onto are brief, fleeting emotions and incomplete sensory readings. I am lost, insignificant; the music weaves a massive universe around me. Its sole purpose is to show me the imminent decimation of all I know, to hang the impending doom of the stars over my head. It laces together the planes of existence in some celestial clockwork, of which I am an infinitesimally small cog. Marching ever on towards extinction, I am powerless but to tick along with everything else.

Yet, for brief instances of unknowable length, I am hopeful. It is a hope as if I’ve never known. A childish, giddy hope. This feeling is the defiance of the damned man who has accepted his fate. It is a smile to the executioner; the serenity of the Hindoo, knowing his inevitable return.

And still nothing solid. I can make nothing out. The music is the voice of a god, too powerful to comprehend as anything other than my feeble brain’s interpretation. I had heard it before, yet it still meant nothing tangible to me at the time. In listening to it since, I cannot say why it caused such a reaction with me and the serum. Yet, for the hour that record played, I was both less than and more than a man. I was formless, yet spatially bound; I knew nothing, yet knew everything; I had only questions, but I held all the answers.

All I knew is that I had to save the world, yet could not. And when I awoke, it was the renaissance of a man who’s world was forged and unmade, in memorable time, right before his very eyes.

– NS

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