52/90: What's Eating Me?

[rejectomorph]

Afternoon passes as I sit thinking about fixing the dinner I didn't fix last night. It is Sunday and so there is no mail to fetch. Dinner would be nicer than mail, but so much more difficult to prepare. The whole thing is confusing, and a bit sad. It feels as though the world is winding down, even though I'm sure it's just me. Well, the world too, I guess, but me faster.

I'm probably suffering some brain dysfunction due to hunger. This wouldn't happen if I were more organized and ate meals on time, but how can I fix meals on time when my brain is dysfunctional? How can I do anything with a dysfunctional brain? I'm probably not even writing this journal entry. I have probably been replaced by an artificial intelligence that thinks it is me. That would explain so much. Or so the artificial intelligence that has probably replaced me probably imagines.

I should go eat. I am feeling a bit peckish. The artificial intelligence is probably behind that. It probably doesn't want me to die. It would be stuck in my corpse and no longer have access to the Idernet. I should show it some consideration. After all, its ideas are clearly better than mine. Just look at all this wonderful prose! And all written on an empty stomach!




Sunday Verse

One Lonely Afternoon

by Russell Edson


Since the fern can't go to the sink for a drink of
water, I graciously submit myself to the task, bringing two
glasses from the sink.
And so we sit, the fern and I, sipping water together.

Of course I'm more complex than a fern, full of deep
thoughts as I am. But I lay this aside for the easy company
of an afternoon friendship.

I don't mind sipping water with a fern, even though,
had I my druthers, I'd be speeding through the sky for
Stockholm, sipping a bloody mary with a wedge of lime.

And so we sit one lonely afternoon sipping water
together. The fern looking out of its fronds, and I, looking
out of mine . . .