Narcoleptic Jones

What?! This isn't where I fell asleep! Let's see: it's been four days. Not too bad. A quick check and I'm all here, although I appear to have been given a haircut. Interesting. At least I'm still wearing my clothes.

What a headache. I'm starting to question whether she really was a doctor. But the promise of medication on tap is too tempting in my condition. Three vials, she said: (2S)-N-methyl-1-phenyl-propan-2-amine, 4-Hydroxybutanoic acid, and (6aR,9R)-N,N-diethyl-7-methyl-4,6,6a,7,8,9-hexahydroindolo-[4,3-fg]quinoline-9-carboxamide. Good, that should help.

Well it seems a pleasant enough place that I'm in, although the locals seem a touch eccentric. I've got some messages from a person named Snickerer. Is this the Watcher that I keep hearing about?

A nice walk in the forest will do me good, I think. I'll get my bearings and find out where I am whilst enjoying some pleasant scenery in a relaxing environment.

Or not. Mental note: avoid the local curry dishes. I now question everything and carry a weapon. Is this really happening, is it hypnagogic hallucinations, or is it whatever was in those damned vials? That woman lied to me about what's in them. Should I be more worried about what's sloshing around in my head, or that I'm stuck on an island without my medication?

Had an unwelcome dance with a magpie and ended up meeting the Watcher. She's not Snickerer (unless she's lying?). Thoughts of her unhinging her jaw haunt my waking thoughts.

Still here, still here. Some constancy is reassuring as unmedicated, I doubt all I see to some extent. Even this suit that Snickerer has given to me: I can feel it (perhaps too much; it's somewhat snug around the groin area) but can hardly fix my eyes on it.

I found some other cities. One of them had a tattoo parlour, but that just brought back memories of some strange beast from the jungle. I defeated that nightmare, but I think I only stunned it. If I had a design embedded in my own flesh, would that attack me too?

Accursed narcolepsy! I fell asleep in the city and some Irish lass decides to sign her name in my chest with a chainsaw (and such delicate handwriting). I'm getting a room before anything else happens.

I have more of a measure of this place, I feel. Either I'm gaining more of an understanding, or I'm losing more of my grip. Without a frame of reference it's hard to say. Everything is a lie. Is it even a lie that this is an island?

I've spent the past few days walking along the coast to see for myself. My results are not conclusive. I've explored all of the south coast, and worked my way up the east coast. I climbed the foot of a mountain that was crowned by a city and all I saw to the East was endless ocean. Not quite the uplifting vista I hoped for. I have returned to the steamy south to drown my sorrows.

I learnt a beautiful melody from a mysterious ferryman today. I was still humming it in town, and a local woman looked fearfully at me, muttered, “Joker,” and hurried away. What was that about, I wonder?

Ow! I got a room in the Prancing Spiderkitty last night thinking that the BAP goons would be a protection against any further chainsaw-related shenanigans. I am sorely mistaken, and even more sorely wounded. Why do these power-tool-wielding maniacs have such long names? Why are they even running around here with the freedom to perform these heinous acts of violence? I don't know why I bother to pose myself these questions as I see no answers forthcoming. On with the search for a way out of here.

It is with deep regret that I write these words. My faithful travelling companion, Wilberforce, sadly retired this morning. I will miss the pattern of liver spots on his back that reminded me of Pleiades. His departing gift to me was to continue to provide for a balm to my loneliness by introducing me to his son, Percival. With Percy by my side, guiding me with his local knowledge, I feel confident that I will extricate myself from this intolerable mess. He told me tales of a titanium-clad beast that lies at the heart of my captivity.

In the jungle, I happened across a fellow with glowing green eyes, much like the ferryman of yesterday. He fed me a nourishing broth. If these fellows are Jokers, then all evidence points to them being most genial (if somewhat taciturn) and I hope to meet with them more often.

But?! A third frenzied assault again with a chainsaw? I have come to the conclusion that I am uniquely vulnerable to these madmen due to my narcolepsy. Any normal person would be woken up by the roar of the two-stroke petrol engines, I am sure. Percy has patched me up as best he could, and we have stumbled on.

Was this the same ferryman that I met today or some other Joker? I thought he was taller the first time around. I can't quite remember properly as the waking dreams are interfering with my thoughts. And still I haven't found any pharmaceuticals. I wonder how long I will be able to continue before I fall asleep in the wilderness and leave myself exposed to all manner of dangers. I thank Percy for his continuing vigilance whilst we are tracking down the fabled creature.

Ahahahahahaha! I have drugs! Whooo! A genius fellow has built an ice cream making machine that produces any flavour. Tues, I was sceptical at first, but then I saw it in action. And now I have vanilla ice cream with LSD sprinkles. Hee hee hee. Things are getting better!

Ugh, I'm not sure what happened, but my bank account is empty and there are lots of receipts for Invisisuits in other people's names. But on the bright side Percy has been busy and says he has heard rumours of the metal beast's location! We go to hunt our quarry!

I see discarded eggshells of broken faces, their perfect yolks promising nourishment, a freedom from the gnawing ache that fills me from within. This emptiness I feel compels me, is the dictator of my actions, and I am just a puppet of my desires, my needs, my all-consuming purpose in this half-life. The Cartesian duality: mind and body, mind in body, mind of body. But our consciousness is an accident of chemicals and sparks. From base matter do divine arts spread wing. Perhaps peace of mind can be reached through a piece of mind. You are what you eat, and I am so very hungry.