No. No no I don’t. Of course not. But you get my meaning.
And I’m stunned to hear this come out of her transparent forehead. So stunned I forgot what prompted the blatant hatefulness out of her adorable lips, and yet finally understanding what she meant… after all this time.
Why couldn’t I feel that way when she was still within reach?
There’s no point in looking for her now. Barreleyes is out there, still out there, way out there, trapped in aqua space. Maybe somewhere, someday, I’ll come across her, emerge in my hot pink submarine and she’ll come aboard, treasured and enraptured, to fly away from the anti-gravitational cage of my infinite brain if she isn’t already a fish skull in an atmospheric diving suit by then.
gollyland is a place where you can’t create and you can’t consume.
That’s where I am right now.
That’s where you are right now.
Void and static.
And for the longest time, this is all I can think.
Franky likes to ask you where you’re “at” all the time. Location matters to him. It’s his way of keeping tabs on you. And by you, I mean me.
“I don’t know,” I say, giving him the round-the-mill answer. “In some ways, I’m over here. In other ways, I’m over there. My body could be in one place, but my mind could be elsewhere.”
I say this because I’ve already used Los Angeles, San Diego, and Cleveland for an answer.
And he says, “Where you at?”
And I say, “You know Franky. I don’t know where I am, but I know where you are. In my mind.”
That should give me another couple days.
There should’ve been muscles in our feet and hands to optimize circulation to our extremities, but no, all we have are tendons and bones. Our body isn’t homeostatic when it comes to regulating temperature. Whoever designed us was stupid.