Ulysses Deriding Polyphemus

I dreamt I was dreaming and couldn’t wake up. Then I woke up. The unconscious is a dick.

It feels as though I put on the wrong legs this morning, uncooperative legs with somebody else’s fatigue in them. After all, my legs didn’t do very much at all yesterday so they couldn’t possibly feel as fatigued as they do today. These are some other fucker’s legs, deliberately confusing me and liable to take wrong turns. If I commit any kind of heinous crime today, especially one that is out of character, I’m blaming these legs.

There is an uncertain quality to the light today, a Turner-esque smeariness like I’m seeing everything through dim, misted glass. If I still have eyes in May perhaps the optician will decide to put them behind stronger lenses. Or there’s nothing wrong with my eyes and the world is simply fading into grey out of spiritual neglect.

I have come to the world of persons in order to feel less isolated. I don’t like it and cannot wait till I’m on my own again back at home.

About S

“an extraordinary repository of cultural knowledge”
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