Thursday, December 18, 2008

I like the darkness

You know how when you close your eyes you can see blobs of light moving around? Close your eyes now, go ahead. See them? Aren't they lovely? Mine are purple and green and they flow around in the blackness. It's like being inside a lava lamp.

The best part is, if you're in the dark, you can actually see them with your eyes open! This works out great for me because I don't have eyelids, just lumps of coal. Not real coal, though. So I can lay here in the dark and stare up and watch my lovely purple blobs dancing over my head. Or maybe I'm laying on my tummy and staring face-down at the bottom of the drawer watchin the blobs flow down in the abyss.

(...please...please...all the other Christmas decorations are gone...why am I so alone...?...)

Another thing that's cool about these blobby light flowing things is that they look like something you see just normally, with both eyes, like a bird or a candy bar. But if they are (as I assume) the result of residual neural energy in the retina or optic nerve, wouldn't you see different blobs in each eye? Why would random nerve-noise be the same for both eyes at the same time? Hmmm? The best part about this theory is it can't be tested by opening one eye and then the other, because you can only see them with your eyes shut! As soon as you open one eye they disappear!

And of course I can't test it at all because, as I think I mentioned, I don't have eyelids. Just lumps of...well, they're black dots drawn with a Sharpie. Lookin' sharp! Get it?

(...please.......)

2 comments:

Jake Cordova said...

Show me your lumps. C'mon, you know you want to. Let's see 'em. Yes... We can be friends.

Jake Cordova said...

You know how sometimes a sock goes missing? You look for it in the drawer but it's not there. You look for it in the laundry basket but it's not there either.

Could it be in the dryer clinging to the lint basket? Probably not. It's just gone. It's nowhere to be found.

What happened to it?

Eventually, over time, the sock slips from your memory. It's gone forever, never to be seen or heard from again.