Telepathy |
Outside it’s getting dark. I lie down on the wooden bench and my friend dances around
the room. I look over at the stars beyond the glass window. |
Communication without speech. |
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The reading of minds. |
The sending of thoughts. |
Let’s gather all of them. |
 |
I am here, over here, in some kind of multi cellular structure that seems to have its own
survival as its only purpose. Within it I eat, I breathe, I make love, I read, I look
around in terror, anger and awe. Within the structure some kind of strange events occur
frequently. They are like a half tuned radio station, calls from the lost station in the
farthest tundra, little voices full of suggestions, connections, judgements, bouncing
around like billiards within the closed machine that is me. |
Thoughts. |
My most private realm. The place where nobody can enter, the one
space that I know is secure, where I can be free from oppression, permission and
punishment, where I can hide forever and never be found or even looked for, the house
beyond the dangers of the treacherous forest that is speech. |
 |
When I talk, what comes out never matches what I saw, what I sensed, what I felt before my
mouth moved, before my fingers started clicking away at the keyboard. Images get
distorted, great conglomerations of self reproducing electrical entities get twisted into
small one way streets called sentences and the shining blue lights at the edges of the
sight are gone, lost until the next moment of finding. If I could only… |
Send my thoughts? |
If I could make the original vision available to others, if the maelstrom of feelings,
thoughts and emotions that preceded the soft sounds of syllables and consonants could
travel across the sea of oxygen and carbon and penetrate those other strange machines out
there, if they could survive the journey, then I could say I have truly spoken, with my
mouth firmly shut the whole time. |
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An ocean of vibration all around me. The tap, tap of oxygen in 6/8
rhythm and a dash of complex soloing here and there. Where would my thoughts go? How would
they travel? What ship could take them? What nourishment would they need? |
|
I look at my friend across the room, lying on the wooden bench,
looking up at the sky beyond the glass windows. I am he as he is me. And suddenly, just
for that one moment, I know that I’ve misunderstood telepathy all along. |
