Recycled Thoughts

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There’s mail. You’ve got mail.

An unseen hand pens and sends; off it goes, an imaginary paper airplane, sailing invisible traffic.

Where did they all go? The heartfelt thoughts; the forget-me-nots?

Submerged in an underwater ocean of memory; written on the ghost of a disk that couldn’t possibly fit you.

And what if you were to arise, would they all come back?

Surfacing again in our consciousness like so much froth; a behemoth’s head cutting the ocean line.



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What is consciousness? I really don’t know, but I’ve come to enjoy this feeling. Bodiless, the static has gone and I’m bathed in light all around. Waiting in this formless realm, I start to think about who I am, and what I am going to become. I always used to think of myself as my body. I saw it every day, touched it, smelt it and enjoyed the sensations it gave me.

I never considered that one day someone would tell me, “Sorry, but who you thought was yourself was actually just a computer generated image.” My real body is probably dead somewhere. But for some reason that defies everything I’ve ever known, I’m still here. Of course, I’m not complaining about that, it just doesn’t make any sense. When a person’s body dies, well, their mind is supposed to vanish too, right? But mine hasn’t. I’m here in this void sensory deprivation tank, waiting.

Art: Wallpaper of Shoose Doujinshi