These days I get caught in a fantasy-hallucination wherein the mouth that I'm kissing decomposes, teeth loosening from their sockets, tongue slumped into pulp, the amputation of life into smooth, inhuman bone.


Spinning things out to their ends, however inevitable, is a disconnection from experience that I want to stop. If I could just quiet that part of myself, the part floating in neuronal hyperspace outside physical space or time, what could I be? A hot little animal, always reacting, never thinking. And why not?

I recognize that I'm saying the same thing over and over. How am I conflicted about consciousness? Let me count the ways...