Disassociation from the self (and yet, its serene acceptance of its amazing surroundings simply deepens its unceremonious sense of the sublime).

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My brain doesn’t work anymore. I was a giver – mentoring, awesome, hirable, amicable, familial,
well-to-do, well-off, prosperous, influential, renowned, dateable, mattressable. Life was more than jubilant,
and I was stuffed and dripping.

I haven’t any memory. I can’t write. All I can do is sign my name. I tried to write the other day – it looked like I was writing in Braille. See? It looks like spiders have written it.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s