But something didn't feel quite right. Something was weird, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
Why I allowed the children to go into this shed I'll never know. This ominous harbinger should have been enough to activate whatever paternal instincts I have to prevent them from wandering innocently into treacherous situations, but I sat there on my comfortable log in the shade and let them go in. It was as if I were being sucked into a vacuum of insanity that fed upon itself like the ouroboros. Some ineffable voice was coaxing me to trek deeper into the forest, to abandon my reservations and let the deep, deep profound cosmically profound energy of this place wash over me. We went deeper.
Everything began to seem profound and take on much deeper significance than before. We had pierced the veil of the vagaries of everyday existence and were now peering behind the curtain of what others would refer to as "reality" and staring with our newly naked eyes into the deep, deep places. This shit was deep. My readings of Kant, Pynchon, and my many listenings to Rush's 2112 album had not prepared me for this. My better angels were screaming to turn back, to leave whatever buried Leviathan of malevolence I had found in this god forsaken place there and run back to the safety of my humdrum existence. But the madness that was overtaking me wouldn't allow me to turn back. I knew we had torn the paper thin filament tethering us to reality and had plunged headlong into the Abyss of iniquity when I saw this...
Run, run, I thought to myself, before the firm grip of profound and really deep stuff that remains vague and is never really defined or explained places its firm grip on you and maybe paints some sort of weird symbology that a brilliant but disturbed detective will recognize from a remote tribe of cannibals in Papua New Guinea grasps you like the shadowy hand of the Nosferatu. Soon I was running. My heart pounding like a deep bass drum, but even as I ran I knew escape from the profoundness of this very deep scenario that even as I was experiencing it didn't really seem to make any sense was futile. It was like a feedback loop. I felt I had been here before and was doomed to repeat the nightmare over and over as the schema burrowed its way into the very fabric of the culture and eventually no one would be able to distinguish profundity from cheap manipulation of surface treatments of age-old philosophies and stories that have been told since the beginning of time. I finally reached the portal that would allow me to escape this Hellish park of depravity, but as I looked back to see my five year old painting on a rock with a water and brush that private donors had generously left behind I could see it was too late for me, for him, for us all.
He had been absorbed by the evil. I left Severson Dells a changed man, incapable in my simplicity and mere B.S. in Science degree of comprehending all the deep and profound shit that had been imparted to me, if only in hints, allegations, and shadowy, inchoate allusions to obscure, out of print texts so mind-blowingly perverted in their power to corrupt that no one had bothered to open them in over a century.