Lockdown

I'd like to announce that I've read all of your posts. You are not alone. I am here at my computer, slouching slightly in a way I'm sure will bring on incapacitating spinal pain in years to come. I have read your words. How unreal they have made me feel. I could be reading an estranged fiction, but I'm not. You are writing it from the real world, and it makes me think: if you are real then what am I?

A codfish. Only a codfish.

Seriously, now, I am almost convinced that we aren't living in the same world. Somehow you have become squiggles and scribbles, or more accurately, italic type. How have you transitioned so seamlessly from three dimensions into limitless dimensions? Goat jumps on flying turtles. See how NORMAL that sounds, that reads, that tries, that ties, that disappears into my brain.

I've stopped. I've lost feeling in my hands. It is so very chilling underground. I am surprisingly aware of each hair on my head. Some do the electric slide to the tingly music of static. Other secrete oil, or something. I'm sure that there's a beautiful scientific word for that. Is my head getting smaller? Have you ever felt a pang, or a jolt, or a stab and wondered what invisible phantom has inflicted it on you? Ow, my foot.

Damn nose bleed.

Right then. Somedays I put my hair on trees so that birds may make nests out of it. Gross. If anyone is ever murdered under that tree, I will be a suspect. Sad.