The boreal winter is associated with reports of depression, irritability, insomnia, absentmindedness, and the occurrence of mild fugue states known as "long-eye" or the "subarctic stare".
Post-September, life renounces existence and the tundra reaches a glacial stasis over which we spend eight months under conditions of prolonged confinement. Its extraordinary isolation is not merely geophysical but biophysical in nature and metaphysical in the subjective.
Extended residence in the subarctic is associated with a significant reduction in triiodothyronine (T3). A thyroid hormonal condition known as Polar T3 Syndrome and has a strong correlation with increased depressive symptomatology and disruption of cognitive performance.
In its depressive states, the contents of my consciousness self-organize into a semantic network whose nodes are so obscure, so alien as to approach being meaningless.
In this sector of the boreal cycle, belonging is thwarted and self-perception becomes so burdensome that the neural nodes from which my consciousness emerges are excited only once a week.
Now that I have explained my predicament I hope you understand that I am dealing with a diseased mind. A brain which thinks that only what happens every seventh night is true.
So every seventh, on a true polar night, the veil of frozen clouds evaporates from the upper atmosphere and a barren void eclipses the sky in a shroud so black so that it seems like a nullification of existence itself.
I can feel myself getting much more irritable and spacier as winter prolongs. Over telecommunications dispatch, my friends south of 65° assure me this cycle is temporary. In turn, I reassure them that my neural pathways are mostly calm, cause from here I can see the stars.
and soon they’ll explode, spitting out poisonous metals disseminating mass extinctions across the milky way.