Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Stream of Consciousness from a Paper Brain

*It is human nature to question warnings and conventional wisdom, in order to truly discover yourself, as this anonymous person--or perhaps not quite a person--did...*

Don’t drink the water, they tell you.

And you wonder, do they tell me that because there’s something poisonous in it, or, like those apples in the Garden, will consumption of it reveal some shadow of truth? Yes, it may doom me forever, but at least I wouldn’t be ignorant anymore.

Maybe I can withstand the poison. What a novel new sensation that would be. To feel something contorting you and snaking acid through you from the inside out. And, before you ask, yes, I am into self abuse. Not any of the conventional stuff, mind you—no cutting, no bone-breaking, no flesh-burning—usually the stuff that wears me thin. I like being paper. Paper can change into so many things, like origami. I still can’t get the creases right to be a swan, though. I make a decent frog.

Sometimes I try to commune with the elements, hoping one of them points me in the right direction…I ask the water itself why I shouldn’t drink it. It doesn’t answer me, not very clearly anyway. It’s pretty murky down there, with the silt and the rocks and bones. Lots of bones. Maybe that’s why I shouldn’t drink the water. 

Or maybe it’s because I’m paper. Paper crumbles under water. That would be a novel sensation too.
What do I do then? I ask the water.
And the water gurgles: Do what paper does.
At first, I don’t get it. Just lie here? Fold myself up? Wait for an author to come along so they can write their life story on me? Or just tear myself up?
I drink the water, mostly because I’m mad at it. It tastes like ink.
And then, I realize, I don’t need an author to write their story on me. And suddenly the water is clear.
Go write yourself.

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