I started the day by writing about the Unabomber. I then switched gears, locating and saving images that might complement my presentation on the transformative power of words. From there, I made a breakfast consisting of a flour tortilla, refried beans, shredded cheddar cheese, cilantro, and salsa from a jar. Then, back to the Unabomber. Then, writing about sitting in a large kettle of water, the temperature of said water increasing very gradually by one degree every three hours; would the eight degrees in twenty-four hours be noticeable? How about twenty-four degrees in three days? That exercise in writing was set aside for another time and another mood.
I took out the trash and drank a glass of iced tea without the ice. I pondered how an elderly gentleman in the mountains of Japan might dismiss my value to humankind without ever even knowing of my existence. So many thoughts race through my mind; unconnected, unnecessary, unproductive thoughts. Ideas with no bearing on reality. Curiosity about the experience of taking LSD; I never did, but would I, if given the opportunity? And I considered an article I read yesterday, describing a woman’s preparations for her planned demise; seeking an end to pointless, incomprehensible pain.
A huge creature, a beast I used to call “daddy long-legs,” is crawling up the screen outside the window to my right. I expect it is spying on me. It is part of an advance party, scouting for potential dangers to the millions upon millions of similar creatures waiting just beyond the edge of the forest. I wonder why the creatures would be interested in us? Especially me? Am I a good specimen of the most savage among my species? That creature could probably write a book at its experiences in the universe, if it could write. And who’s to say it cannot? Just because I do not understand its methods does not mean it does not possess perfectly good methods of written communication. It just has an entirely different means of communicating from me.
I may start doing podcasts or video messages each day instead of writing with my fingers. An audience of six, sleepy and disinterested, would cause my ratings to stay beneath the floorboards of an ancient house without wiring. My experiment would fail. Enough of that.
I must leave soon for my videotaping session. Wish me success, please, and don’t forget to write.
Perhaps when I return home, I will plant some dwarf snapdragons. Perhaps I won’t.