Every few days I have the same nightmare of Tucker Carlson:
I'm watching television on a recliner, and Tucker is talking about the latest nonsense. Then he says, "but what do you think?" and then he just stares at the screen. I just look at the screen waiting for a response, but it's just silence. He's making that stupid fucking face again. I hate that face so much. I grimace in annoyance at the face, but then it keeps looking back at me.
I realize that the program is still broadcasting. He's quietly shifting in his seat. Waiting for an answer. I'm confused and scared. There's nothing but silence as he waits for an answer. I start flicking the remote to change the channel and nothing happens. I try to get out of my seat, the Quaker Oats Cheddar Cheese Rice Chips I was eating fall to the floor, and then I realize it. Nothing is making any sound. Nothing. Not me in the chair, not the remote, not the Rice Chips.
As panic sets in, I try to get up and turn the TV off, but my legs don't work. In my recliner, they are stiff as boards. I try to turn away, but my head stops moving at the point where Tucker is in my peripheral vision of both eyes. I can't look away any further. As I stare into his face, his face stares back into me. I begin to to cry out for help, but nothing comes out. I scream hysterically, begging for my friends, family, or God to hear me, but nothing can be heard except a low, rolling, brown noise coming from places unknown and unseen. Wherever I have fallen to, God has no place here.
I can see nothing now but his face. My head no longer moves, my eyes no longer close, I can do nothing but cry and beg for death without moving or speaking. But it's okay. There's nowhere to go but the face. The face is now my only comfort in this life.
I gaze into the face, and the face gazes back into me.
Every few days I have the same nightmare of Tucker Carlson:
I'm watching television on a recliner, and Tucker is talking about the latest nonsense. Then he says, "but what do you think?" and then he just stares at the screen. I just look at the screen waiting for a response, but it's just silence. He's making that stupid fucking face again. I hate that face so much. I grimace in annoyance at the face, but then it keeps looking back at me.
I realize that the program is still broadcasting. He's quietly shifting in his seat. Waiting for an answer. I'm confused and scared. There's nothing but silence as he waits for an answer. I start flicking the remote to change the channel and nothing happens. I try to get out of my seat, the Quaker Oats Cheddar Cheese Rice Chips I was eating fall to the floor, and then I realize it. Nothing is making any sound. Nothing. Not me in the chair, not the remote, not the Rice Chips.
As panic sets in, I try to get up and turn the TV off, but my legs don't work. In my recliner, they are stiff as boards. I try to turn away, but my head stops moving at the point where Tucker is in my peripheral vision of both eyes. I can't look away any further. As I stare into his face, his face stares back into me. I begin to to cry out for help, but nothing comes out. I scream hysterically, begging for my friends, family, or God to hear me, but nothing can be heard except a low, rolling, brown noise coming from places unknown and unseen. Wherever I have fallen to, God has no place here.
I can see nothing now but his face. My head no longer moves, my eyes no longer close, I can do nothing but cry and beg for death without moving or speaking. But it's okay. There's nowhere to go but the face. The face is now my only comfort in this life.
I gaze into the face, and the face gazes back into me.
I am the face now.
We are all the face.