Tall with a ghostly complexion, the man was modest to say the least. Egotism was not his agenda, yet he assumed a vast, and seemingly authoritative role in the lives of his peers. His sleepless nights were a consequence of an extinct relationship, while a cigarette habit was synonymous with his broken family. His hair was short, his legs were hairy, and he lacked an upper lip. Although a zealous conservative, his political agenda was regularly a hard fought debate between a three and six inch sandwich at Subway. The man was painfully ordinary. Friday nights he went bowling, yet despite his seemingly social persona, no one accompanied the man on these ventures except two packs of cigarettes, a box of wine, and an expired ------. The enormous wheels on his truck were mere compensation for his less than average assets. Love plagued him. False expectations had forced the man to believe in nothing. With each thrust of his arm towards the pins, he relinquished the infinitesimal amounts of hope that lingered. He had friends, but they were truly just acquaintances, people who hung around solely because they had the ability to do so. The ends of his days were met with a grueling decision on whether to spend his hard earned money on booze or canned tuna. Either would suffice. At home he was quiet. Silence was favorable for the middle aged man. As he reclined in front of the television, the man tried to battle the lethargic vigor of his eyelids, but to no avail. His eyelids closed, and mind racing, he began to sink.
His state could only be described as analytical-truly focused on the chronology of time, whilst never looking at the past. It was interesting to him that logic seemed to prevail in a state of slumber. He wondered if the outside influence of physical interaction somehow mitigated an individuals ability to think rationally. Triumphantly, the man wandered through his pristine dimension. The designer, the creator, the shaper of worlds. He found solace in his tranquil, authoritative role over time. Galaxies at his fingertips, and truly no limits of creation, the man came to the extreme conclusion that significance was trivial. Everything in his dimension was insignificant to the man. He realized that significance of an object, relationship, or anything for that matter was a consequence of human nature. Attachment was a burden. Contrasted with the mans reality, the dimension in which he resided showed personal order. It proved to the man that his subconscious was linear. For once in his life, he was happy. Optimism flooded his every orifice. The man came across a seemingly infinite space. White, and truly barren, the territory expanded with each movement the man made. Step after step, he came to the conclusion that his literal path was to create, walk, and live in this artificial void. He had yet to grasp the truth of his decisions, however It was the concept of neutrality and a blank slate that kept him so intrigued. The man wanted to start from scratch, but until that moment, he had not figured out a path to that open mindedness. As his journey came to a close, he approached the void one last time. Considering his situation, the man pondered the possibility of his current state as an indefinite one. Faced with this dilemma, the man was seemingly calm. He understood the repercussions of such a reality, yet managed to disregard all such consequences. His mission was happiness, and he planned to succeed.
In a matter of time the man arose from his adventure. His eyelids opened slowly as if fighting the force of gravity itself. He lifted his back from the chair, and propped himself upright. To his left, a deceptively wet glass of room temperature water sat on the coffee table. Pausing for a moment the man contemplated his thirst. Conventionally, a decision like this would have been an easy one, however the man sought to analyze the situation. When the man investigated his dilemma of thirst, he found the most reasonable solution to be throwing the water upon his face. The man shook off his quick decision like a dog, and returned to reality. Placing both hands on his jaw, and elbows on his knees, the man leaned over. As he attempted to breathe through his congested nose, he closed his eyes. His struggle was apparent. He wondered if there was a key to his madness, or if there actually was significance in his life. The man was incredibly self aware. He understood that his actions were unordinary, however he could not shake the feelings he expressed when in his state of slumber. Like a drug, the man sought the exhilaration of another reality, he chased a feeling that he soon would realize irreplicable. The man failed to realize the fiction which masks the truth in an individuals mind. As he explored his promising dimension, the man began merging his two psyche. Within the adventure he became accustomed to the blank slate and neutral territory which grazed over his mentality. As he explored this terrain, the optimistic fantasy which overshadowed his harsh reality became his mission. The man was chasing something fake. Something so unreal that his subconscious was forced to create a world of false ecstasy.
He sat in his recliner with his eyes wide. Not blinking, his mind was clearly working. Five minutes passed by and the man had not moved. It was clear that he had made a decision. The man wanted truth, yet he knew of few ways to find it. His journey had lead him to a place that he believed was final. His adventure had begun where time ended. Repeatedly, the man pondered his yearning for a blank slate. He wondered how to achieve such a task without hindering his ability to express happiness. It was simple, the man thought. The only way to achieve nothing is to stop everything.