Mass Exodus

My thoughts left me in full. I didn’t try to chase them. I was glad they were finally gone.

I could sleep now.

Except I didn’t sleep.

I thought if my thoughts were gone then what about my dreams.

My dreams were gone too.

And if my dreams then what about my perceptions of who I am now.

Those were gone too.

And if my perceptions of self were gone then what would be left of me?

I started culling the algae from my throat.

I scraped the lichens from my forehead.

I harvested oysters from between my toes.

All of this was nothing without thought.

What would I do with all of this?

My thoughts have all left me.

I scraped the interior of my skull, spritzed it like a fern.

A couple explodes next to the neighborhood pool. They both look at the sky, acknowledge its passing. Embarrassment is a capitalist invention. Yes, but so are we.

Everyone hushes, “There is a pandemic going on.”

Thought as an injury that will ever happen.

Thought as climbing out of a vacuum.

Thought as building the ladder

into my brain’s lap

causing a concussion

and a sweetness of thought

The purring of thought.

Thought’s effervescence.

Thought as murder.

I thought I thought a thought outright.

I did not. I tried to think a thought outright.

As I have said “to try” is the essayist’s dream.

“To try” carries violence against “to be.”

I sit and let my blood cascade through me.

My wife and son are doing a sleepover. They are watching Mulan. Action scene after action scene. Horses screaming. Crowds shouting. There is always a winner.

Mulan wins because of her mental ferocity.

Same with the bugs that shout outside. They are ferociously loud. Same with the timbre of being cool enough to have read this far.

If you’ve made it this far, here is a list of VIPs at my funeral (I prefer Sky Burial):

Squids

Anyone who feels like they know me

Babies (any)

MyFamily

People that are chill

Werner Herzog

Me (my ghost)