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This I write to myself. Reality calls my name and I call reality, a glimpse that gives the mind slaves an axe for chains; these slaves, in turn, build a wall of illusion for the sake of mind slavery.
1, 2, 3, the experiment proves me wrong. 1, 2, 3, life proves me wrong. 1, 2, 3, I say. [I don't know.] 1, 2, 3, I am finally real.
Again I am locked in. I am no more.
We meet again, Reality and I. I am again.
“Don’t turn your back”, says my old friend Reality.
I say six hundred silences. Reality talks back.
“What would it be like to just look me in the eye?”
“I am busy imagining.”
Reality strikes me in my head. I have one or two words to say.
Reality says, “Look.”
In my dream, I dream of Reality. When I wake up I see Reality. I talk to Reality. I catch a glimpse of her. Eventually, when she is distracted, blinded as she is by the images of others, I look her in the eye. I see my past. She will sometimes let me see my future.
“I dislike waiting”, I say. To which Reality responds, “All this time I wait and you don’t see me, it is you who waits?”
The day I look Reality in the eye is the 6th of July. I have a bite from a cake. It is my birthday.
Reality remains silent then. Reality says six hundred silences. I believe one silences Reality when she starts talking a lot about her own affairs.
When I stand up, the chair is wet. It’s been a hot day. The body tells no lies. I go straight to my brother’s room just to check. Our dying, leishmanian dog is on the rug; it breaths still.
And what does she write to herself? A letter to the future now that she knows that I know her and that she takes me as a burden bearable enough (an insult), a glimpse that gives the mind slaves an axe for chains – slaves which build a wall of illusion for the sake of mind slavery. I do not complain. I have been given like names since the time of Job.
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