“We are just particles; floating out there; moving through space. Nobody knows where we are. And every once in a while, we collide. Suddenly, maybe for a minute, we are real. And then, we float off again. As if we don’t even exist.”
If I told you story, would you remember?
A thought. It stands me upright with purpose. I begin to follow the thought and allow it to lead me on an exploration through the night.
Through the nights. Dreams, images, shapes, warping space and time and creating a reality self-contained. I ask things of myself. Sometimes, I already know the answers. Other times not.
I grew up on The Beatle’s White Album. My favorite color is blue. I like popcorn. I am running out of time. I used to be thinner. I wish I read more. I should have been a chef. I secretly play the lottery. I cannot sing, but that doesn’t stop me. Like the scorpion in the fable, it is in my nature. I can draw what I imagine. My belly button is finite, yet infinite.
I cannot pursue this thought forever. Some things must end. What I keep asking of myself, when this pursuit ends, can the space leftover from it be used for something else? Carved out portions of the insides, displayed on a tablet for all that wish to see. The inner space left behind, slowly gets filled in. By the ooze and fluid and the matter of the universe. Or maybe, simply, it is just another thought.
The realization that placing one thing next another thing changes both things completely.
