My Descent In A Bathysphere (of Hope and Hell)

For a time it seemed as though I would never re-emerge into God’s healing light. Several times I almost gave up – but each time an inner Neal spurned surrender and railed at the gibbering dark. Railed, and roared, and never surrendered until finally I emerged from my foetid cocoon into the clean and honest air – caked in excrement, unshaven, almost insane it is true – but ALIVE!

It began, as these things quite often do, with the innocent purchase of a bathysphere. Diligent readers will no doubt be aware that the last six weeks have been far from an easy time for me. The demise of my cherished “Space Indians!” project had left me more fragile than I was willing to admit to myself, culminating in that unfortunate lapse when I ran over Robert Downey Jr twice.

Some nights I’d come home and repair to my private screening room – but instead of watching a few reels of a classic feature, you know what I was doing? I was sitting in my Laz-Y Boy recliner screaming. Sometimes I would scream for several hours at a time. Several weeks passed – several weeks of screaming – until finally Paquita came to me, wringing her poor old cataractic hands. She was so nervous, poor old dear! She hadn’t understood my screaming regimen at all. In fact she said,

“Senor. Neal, usted tiene un craziness en su cerebro y debo irme si este griterío terrible continúa, el coto de los santos usted.”

To which I replied, my heart welling with compasión for her:

“Oh, Paquita – there can be no talk of you leaving. I must continue my screaming, but had I known the anguish it was causing you…had I only known….”

That very moment I decided to find a quiet place to scream! Finding a quiet place to scream took a little longer. Eventually though, I found the perfect thing on on eBay – a bathysphere! The Otis Barton Oceanological Institute delivered my purchase promptly and all seemed well. Had I only known that my bathysphere would take me to a dark and sunless place I would not have purchased it so blythely.

One particularly testing day I was struck by a powerful urge to scream, and drove home in order to do so. I’d had a few drinks as I stumbled down my garden path, a path that was paved not with good intentions but the ominous foreshadowing of Krazy-Paving! The last rays of the sun played about the hatch like rabbits made of honey as I settled comfortably into my screaming chair. A shadow passed across the sun as I pulled the hatch closed, the bolts sliding into place like ominous bolts.

My nightmare was about to begin.

OK, more later! Bye!