6am Sunday, supine under my dual-action ceiling-fan light, it dawned on me that we were deep in conversation. Me and my static ceiling-fan, that is, you weren't around.
What made me dizzy wasn't that I was spinning while it was tranquil, or that it alternated between looking like a giant but genial albino mosquito, or a prototype sheep with rocket-trotters that had lodged its head in the plaster whilst showing off, or even an intergalactating heli-udder come to administer cosmic anti-bodies to brains paranoid of growing hair on the concave surfaces of their skulls,
but the ceiling fan's astonishing capacity for conversation (and, eerily enough, prolonged eye-contact) cut through all my delirious codswallop (such as my 'normalizing' joke about this all just being a trick of the light, to which it responded that the only lights turning tricks were red ones). It suggested that the pursuit of control actually inhibited self-determination, interrupted receptivity to detail, and mugged curiosity by luring it down the gloomy alleyways of preconception. I've long known my empiricist tendencies towards mapping my dendrites first through the material plane, deferring to the candor and impact of others, holding myself beholden. Exhausting these roots/routes/routs quickly, I then took to traipsing through the muck of self-deconstruction (which is pretty silly, because who yet has constructed a self?), and observationally-assisted entropy.
I've had blushes of intersubjective experience. They were events that occurred as bursts of moral and emotional elevation, culminating at an ephemeral arc at the thin-aired crown of the parabola, and then plummeting earthward again. These occasions instilled within me a profound sense of love, but never before toward a dormant but polymorphous air-circulator. At no point that morning did I find myself lonely, only quietly and blissfully alone. And so evidently connected with all the other unfinisheds that I've been afraid of receiving feeling from for so long. The rubble has been cleared, my political candidacy is restored and I can yet live!
If that didn't interest you, then these tidbits will:
- Click the 'video' icon to initiate the AMOEBA. A couple of minutes in, it gets really drippy.