myStory and me...

Metaphysics of Being: My Journey Through the Eternity of Death

I. The Hyper-Civilized Surface (Pacific Palisades)

Everything begins in absolute smoothness. Pacific Palisades—the epitome of Californian light and economic security. Here, life is a promise fulfilled through architecture and climate.

I stand at a gas station near the Malibu Connection. The pump hums like a surgical instrument. The station itself is a cathedral of consumption: neon light refracts across polished asphalt, black and smooth like the surface of a still lake. People move functionally—they are not individuals, but vectors in a system of comfort and speed. The Getty freeway complex pulses in the background like a neural network without consciousness.

Psychodynamics: This is maximum external order with minimal internal depth. My ego here is merely a data set in a “de-pialized” script.

II. The Ascent: Sepulveda Pass

I leave the plain. The drive into Sepulveda Pass is a moment of decoupling. Six-lane freedom narrows to two lanes. The city beneath me becomes a backdrop, a flickering toy landscape.

Then the first sign of transformation: the radio signal drops. The smartphone becomes a useless piece of glass. The road forces reduction—no evasive maneuvers remain possible. I am on “XYZ Road,” a liminal corridor that knows neither origin nor destination.

III. The Silent Zone: The High Plateau

At the top, the world tilts. The horizon loses its landmarks. There is no traffic anymore, only the whistling of wind against the chassis. Time thickens like honey. Without the external reference points of the city, my ego begins to flicker. In this emptiness, the first fragments of the unconscious begin to rise.

IV. Mad Creek: Entry into Regression

The turnoff is almost invisible. A crooked wooden sign: “Mad Greek.”

The moment my tires leave the asphalt and touch dust, rational control ends. Navigation finally fails. Direction is no longer a compass value, but an instinctive sensation. I am no longer driving through a landscape — I am driving deeper into myself.

V. Death Valley: The Naked Core

Then the valley opens: Death Valley. A place without shadow, without distraction, without mercy. The heat is a physical presence that burns away all social masks.

The mountains: monumental blue-gray formations that resemble frozen waves from geological time. They do not observe. They simply are—since eons.

The radio: suddenly, out of the void of static, satellite radio breaks through. Pink Floyd: “Us and Them.”

“And after all, we’re only ordinary men…”

The music acts as a resonance chamber for my own insignificance. Against the backdrop of these mountains, every human drama shrinks to the size of a grain of sand.

VI. The Oasis and the Absurd (Shoshone & Longstreet)

Like a hallucination, the Shoshone clinic appears. Palm trees, the hum of air conditioning. It is the psyche’s attempt to simulate attachment again—a regressive retreat into care. But the healing here is artificial.

I drive on to Longstreet Jack. A casino in the middle of nowhere. Neon signs struggling against the eternity of the desert. Inside, figures sit at a table playing alien poker. Their expressions are shifted by millimeters; the stakes are unclear.

Here I encounter the perverted superego: rules still exist, but they have lost all meaning. An alien at the table looks at me. Its voice is like dry paper:

“There are no stakes. You’re only playing to see if you still exist.”

VII. Burial Mountain: The End of Necessity

I leave the casino behind. The lights die in the rearview mirror. Ahead of me rises Burial Mountain.

It is not a spectacular peak, but a sheer mass of darkness and duration. Here dwell the souls of the Shoshone—not as individuals with names and stories, but as pure presence within the stone.

I step out. The engine ticks softly as it cools. The radio falls silent. No wind.

There is no enlightenment here, no grand gesture. Only the radical, almost liberating realization: everything that defined me in Los Angeles — my fears, my roles, my Oedipal struggle — is completely irrelevant here.

Final State

This is not a return to childhood. It is a return to a state without tension.

Life does not end here. Only the necessity of being someone does.