when we're too short

stream-of-consciousness

 

Do you hear? Can you hear me? I yelled, loud for my shivered lungs. There were fireworks in my mouth, in my throat. My teeth were floating.

I could see you standing a mile off, 5,280 feet of tundra between us, exactly that many because you had counted and you hated approximations, just like I hated certainty.You liked the tundra because it was useful; I liked it because it was cold. I hated being cold, but it was nice to feel forced. Culture is too soft, now; too lackadaisical to be able to really hurt someone.We think that we've gotten kinder, maybe, or more tolerant. Really, we've developed soft fists. But the tundra still has hers, and so today I liked the tundra. I was submissive to it, but out of choice. My interaction with her felt like a sexual act, and was similar to such acts also in its distinctive, clarifying arousal. Still, you could not hear me. I should not have been surprised at this, yet I was. You should be able to hear me, distance is compressed by depth of feeling; I've long believed that the strength of wants determine their fulfillment. On the tundra, all of our wants are pulled, strained out of us, and thrown down to the earth, laying flat and stark as the land itself. We lose a dimension, but only one of mass, not of depth, and so we feel slightly more like gods, and there is otherwise no change.

(Gods, you see, are not in a body. When we are spent, and have allowed our bodies to be completely broken and sucked dry, we can feel the god inside of us begin to rise. Most people cannot take the discomfort, so this is something they never discover. I no longer fear pain, in my knowledge of its purpose.)

As I listened for your reply I suddenly heard, faintly at first, a noise like a trumpet rising steadily from the earth. As I listened closer, I became aware that the sound was coming from my own throat; a guttural scream of anguish and longing (though my thoughts were removed enough to analyze instead of experience.) The more aware of the sound I became, the louder it grew; like a very distant cry being gradually joined by thousands more individuals. My mind desired to retreat, but I would not allow it. (That sentence does not make sense. Can you tell me why?)

The sky was hazy with bright sunlight beneath thin clouds, and the light was electric, shocking my skin over and over. There were no sounds, but all did not feel quiet; a more sinister hum kept the music away. Squinting, I could see you turn toward me, and suddenly your voice was in my ear, though your mouth remained unmoving.

“What is wrong?”

“I'm thirsty.” You knew.

“I showed you how to fix it.”

That was true. Memories felt like cars, but I could just pick out the right one. One night you asked me if I knew how to get juice from words, and I said that I did not. You said that it was easy. You start by making the words; a handful of experiences, feelings, desires, anything leftover �" throw them in a mold. Cut away what doesn't fit. When you've made several words you hand them to someone else, who will squeeze them and push them down 'til they're dry as bones. Catch all the liquid in a bowl. It will taste bitter, you said, but it is good for you.

I tried to tell you right then (you wouldn't listen) that it did not work, and I was still thirsty. I told you many times until you heard me, but your response was that I would surely die. I thought that I was not ready to be a hopeless case. Looking back on that thought, I was wrong. We're all ready to be what we already are.

A caveat on this subject: perhaps mankind's problem is that we're not ready to be what we already are. This is something I've been thinking about for awhile. Mankind, as he exists currently �" homo sapien sapien �" has something of an enlarged frontal lobe, making it natural and relatively easy for him to think abstractly on life or the universe. The issue is, I guess, that our limbic system has not yet caught up to our brains, and we find ourselves at times in a dream-like state �" staring up at something too horrific to look at directly. We can think about our finite existence in light of the infinite expanse of the universe, but we cannot be okay with it. I've heard men say different, but I never believe them. We cannot be okay with it. We're not there yet. It's in our limbic systems.

Further, I feel strongly as though it is in the basic nature of mankind to act against reason. What would a race of man be like who did not live as though meaning was inherent, and there was eternal life? The most rational among us have dreams which extend far beyond the capacity of a single human life, and we give pills to those who long for death. We, at the very least, feel strongly about the reality of significance on a grand scale, and we know strongly about the material nature of the universe. We feel, dream, and ultimately act in a way which is completely contrary to reason, and it is what we honor in a man, and it is a trait to be feared. It strengthens us even as it dismisses an evolutionary milestone. I have no answer for this, I can only say what I observe.

I tried to return from my digression to once more look out across the tundra, but the winds had died down and you were long gone. I'm sorry. I'll come back again soon.

Reviews

[ZackOfBridge]

This is like brilliant nonsense. I loved it, you made the words do what you wanted them to. It was unique and full of voice.

[sonnetmoon]

I like how you how you vary sentence structure. However one or two of your sentences are too long!
Overall I enjoyed reading this.keep on writing.

-sonnet moon