Sitting on a carpet. Dad is playing music, my mind is somewhere else.
Then, a different song begins. The walls stretch up so high, the hallways
are so dark. There is no world but here, and no world to deny. There is
only a clean carpet and music from another reality. It's dark outside. Who
knows what happened today, or happens tomorrow?
The music has a square texture, and a smooth bass. There are so many
things I don't understand, in this small, dim world of mine. The music,
and that which creates it. There are infinite tomorrows, waiting to spring
forth. I cannot predict the future, since I do not know the past. All I
know is that this is the world I have. This small, dim space, of white
carpet and black windows. And in the corner, is the computer, Dad, and the
music.
My mind swims with thoughts of dreams and calculations. I know that the
world is complex, but I do not understand where to look. There is only
what I see, and there is so much that is inaccessable. It is all a
mystery, shrouded in child-like blur. The truth, if it exists, is locked
away by my own shortcomings. Yet, this doesn't bother me.
It fascinates me.
It is now only a distant and faint memory, difficult to recall and
impossible to verify. It was in that moment that life outside of life
happened. I experienced something which may never come to me again; I know
too much. I can only hope that by throwing myself into the strange and
uncomprehendible, that I may again find myself in such a closed world.
Then I can truly be lost, and alone, with nothing but an uncontrollable
song, and a carpet to sit on and listen.
There is a foreign language, in writing and in voice, which I must learn.
