Do any other creatures in the animal kingdom have practical jokes played on them like this?
We think we have consciousness. Prove it, the philosopher jokingly--but not so jokingly--prods. "What makes you think the brain functions any differently than the liver?" Fuck.
Autonomous bodies. Why then does my skin itch at the thought of his return to cocaine? We are 400 miles apart. Modernity's great phallacy. Yes: phallacy, only the phallic would dream of life un-entered, unaffected, unreal. They are still using the term "hysteria" to describe women who have emotions. Fuck.
The imposed "end" of this institution summons my attention like that surge, that on-coming swell off there in the distance, the one that promises to break right on top of my head if I don't take a huge, deep, lasting breath before diving underneath and swimming down, down, down where it's calm, where there's less breakage, less reality. But there's no breathing at the bottom. Just anticipation of resurfacing again after the chaos subsides.
Every face I see looks like my fathers. And I'm smiling and sobbing in the face of all the others, just to acknowledge his ashes on my degree.
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