I bite my lip when I’m nervous. It’s raw so I mustn’t have had nice dreams. There were lost coastlines, aching stomachs and careless college professors, golden rings sinking to the bottom of the tropical bay, much like a Hemingway book review that never happened. Clearly I wake up confused and paranoid, scatterbrained, when my sleeping mind troubles me with so many realistic, disconnected images. I wonder how of it is real. I wonder if it is possible that any of it is not real.
Replace me, ye mighty consuming business machine. I’m not worthy to be a cog in your machinery. You’ll need someone who folds easier. My body does not fill spaces as easily as water does. I am a solid.
While laying in bed, listening to my strange feeling stomach make gurgling noises like a drowning man, something I did to it was clearly upsetting and when it sobs I feel the aches of a liver processing one extra liter of wine, or the body having trouble digesting something I ate, like tinfoil or cooked nails, half of a hammer, whatever it was. I lay there listening to the strangest sounds coming from inside of me and have such amazing inspiration to write and to write well.
If I could only remember what I needed to say.
I’m trying a deja vu recollection technique. That is to say I will try to set the scene once more and hope the missing data returns gracefully, without much force. It’s a late morning. “Where I hung my coat is where I left my head.” I thought the Seahawks played yesterday but there are at half time right now. I lay in bed with my stomach churning. Warm under partial blanket cover. Hard pressed to find a reason to get up immediately. I thought if I had a notebook in my hands during these morning philosophy tangents I’d had the material to write a book. Where is that material?
None of it is directed. I lay in waste trying to find the words. They are directionless tangents and I follow them sheepishly. Like dumb sheep dogs. Like wolves waiting in the undergrowth. Like stars falling.
I thought about how tired I felt even after adequate sleep. Feeling like an old man trapped in a young man’s body. 90 years old, with the wisdom of history, but no way to translate. It is too heavy. Much too much information.
“When everyone you meet seems to be asleep”
I can’t wrap head around the confusion I am consumed with this morning. I’m consumed by confusion. I’m consumed with this morning. It is all around me but I can’t translate clearly. That’s where I’m blocked. I’m trying to think about staying on topic. Keep the stream of consciousness in an irrigation canal, watering crops and keeping life sustainable for farmers away from the direct shore of that stream, which should really be called a river. Keep those flashing lights of greener grasses at bay. Keeping the infiltrating thoughts that make up the ‘first reaction mind’. The one that suddenly notices this or that in a flash. I googled searched to find the specific psychological term for the different layers of awareness of consciousness but came up empty. My mind is not on fire this late morning. I can’t remember the psychology I once loved.
Instead I found an article that shows a child’s first reaction to a crucifix. I’d think it was horror. Or thought of as a toy. Or indifferent. Open minded children probably blaspheme quite a bit when they are first introduced to Christian theology. They assess the world with their open, malleable minds and psychopathic sunday school teachers take advantage of these moldable minds to instill the teachings that had been instilled to them, through a similar course of instruction, with more slapping and loyalty preached, or through insanity or jail time.
“No one is an atheist in a foxhole.”
Do you think children are atheists?
The difference between homosexuality and christianity is that one is taught through archaic social institutions (still prevalent for reasons of fear or misguided tradition) and the other is something you are born with.
Guess which is which.
I realized the article is ‘how to watch a child’s first reaction to a crucifix with an open mind’
I thought it was about the implications of the child’s open mind, but it is supposed to be for the parent to make notes on the child’s facial expressions once entering the church.
I’m once more disgusted by our stupid, foaming-at-the-mouth humanity and I’ll leave you at that for awhile.