It occurs to me that the fatal error is that of relation. We are rather quite good and sussing out the issue if we can compare and contrast it to another issue. Connect the similarities into a netting of solid ground from where we can communicate and explore, together. It seems the foundation of everything. Civilization and language. We exchange currencies like nouns, inflation acknowledged. But the fatal error I find occurs when there can be no agreed upon exchange rate. That when I arrive at the market, I arrive with foreign gems to barter with.
How is it that I can communicate what has little acknowledged relation? That’s another variable, isn’t it? Those gems are gems in many standard ways; it is only that they are not acknowledged as a common good. And without that acknowledgement—without that alchemy which transforms vernacular and cooperation—those gems are something strange.
Maybe it’s not as hard as I think. Maybe .
I am trapped in a cage. My skin is no longer mine, but an agent. For who? I cannot say. I simply know it is not working for me or with me. Below that, a layer deeper. The off-white insulation of this cell. And a layer deeper, we begin to pierce the soundproofing. That which keeps the outside voice out and the inside voices in. Below that, there is, I can only assess, an “I”. Not another. The singular other, suffocating, thrashing for breath, and through this small opening, I grant this I a stay of execution. I breathes. I fills his lungs with cool air. I acknowledges the temporary nature of the cage. That I’s release is soon and another breath may not be needed. I will let me know. I will hold out as long as I can, maybe until the end, but I am not sure. I will take it one day at a time and let me know when it gets too much and I need to experience only a momentary breath that fills my lungs with impossible air. And I returns to holding that gasp, until the next exhale.
The subjective overcome by a theory more powerful than any laws of physics, overcome by mere agreement of relation.
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