Every rational person has approximately twelve irrational people living inside his or her skin, sharing organs with him or her.
For example, today I met "Robert" downtown for lunch in the food court at Strawberry Square.
I say the "food court," but we sat at one of those small tables set in the elevated walkway which connects this downtown mall to a decent hotel. We sat about twenty feet above a city street and enjoyed the traffic whizzing under our sneakers, watching it through the bowed glass of this tunnel so like a Habitrail tube for hamsters.
It wasn't long until the twelve inside Robert began to emerge.
We were having a normal conversation, but I sensed the twelve pushing at Robert's face and innards, like Freddy Krueger with his nightmarish plasticity.
Who were these people inside Robert? I named them arbitrarily as I sensed them.
Mariah wanted to dance with me. I believe a tango she had learned in her college days and had never again gotten a chance to show off.
Jude, I am fairly certain, wanted to slay me very slowly with a rusty can opener.
Robert drank his diet soda and prattled on about perfectly ordinary and depressing things in the news and in the art world.
He smiled nicely, a smile like a well-made sandwich.
Sam, I am fairly certain, wanted to sleep with me.
Or did he merely want to seduce me? Yes. It was horrible Julietta who wanted to sleep with me. She was in her nightgown. In a food court. She was always that way. He hair had her children's lollipops stuck throughout.
Rani was feeding the imaginary sparrows which flocked the food court. A true nature spirit. Barefoot at all times, even when she married.
Poor Gus was mentally challenged but a delight to behold should we decide to play the game "What Does That Cloud Resemble?"
Odile and Odette only had eyes for each other. They wanted to weight Robert down with stones and just throw him in the river. I sensed him watching them at their caustic flirtation even as he talked. They don't think of themselves as lesbians. They think of themselves as swans.
Rod was doing things with a protractor and French curve and his mustache that he hoped would win the attention of the attractive young woman passing us just then. It didn't.
Salvia was contemplating what song should be playing during her suicide, which is all she ever does.
Alice, despite the name, is a boy and a spiteful one in a dress.
Albert, despite the name, is a girl and a spiteful one in no dress.
I enjoyed my visit with Robert but I couldn't help scribbling down notes to some of his various resident personages and I even penned poems to two of them.
Of course, I was too afraid to show these to Robert or his "inner friends," so I just surreptitiously slipped these notes into a trash can as we exited the food court, hoping Robert's bodily cellmates would not notice.
For example, today I met "Robert" downtown for lunch in the food court at Strawberry Square.
I say the "food court," but we sat at one of those small tables set in the elevated walkway which connects this downtown mall to a decent hotel. We sat about twenty feet above a city street and enjoyed the traffic whizzing under our sneakers, watching it through the bowed glass of this tunnel so like a Habitrail tube for hamsters.
It wasn't long until the twelve inside Robert began to emerge.
We were having a normal conversation, but I sensed the twelve pushing at Robert's face and innards, like Freddy Krueger with his nightmarish plasticity.
Who were these people inside Robert? I named them arbitrarily as I sensed them.
Mariah wanted to dance with me. I believe a tango she had learned in her college days and had never again gotten a chance to show off.
Jude, I am fairly certain, wanted to slay me very slowly with a rusty can opener.
Robert drank his diet soda and prattled on about perfectly ordinary and depressing things in the news and in the art world.
He smiled nicely, a smile like a well-made sandwich.
Sam, I am fairly certain, wanted to sleep with me.
Or did he merely want to seduce me? Yes. It was horrible Julietta who wanted to sleep with me. She was in her nightgown. In a food court. She was always that way. He hair had her children's lollipops stuck throughout.
Rani was feeding the imaginary sparrows which flocked the food court. A true nature spirit. Barefoot at all times, even when she married.
Poor Gus was mentally challenged but a delight to behold should we decide to play the game "What Does That Cloud Resemble?"
Odile and Odette only had eyes for each other. They wanted to weight Robert down with stones and just throw him in the river. I sensed him watching them at their caustic flirtation even as he talked. They don't think of themselves as lesbians. They think of themselves as swans.
Rod was doing things with a protractor and French curve and his mustache that he hoped would win the attention of the attractive young woman passing us just then. It didn't.
Salvia was contemplating what song should be playing during her suicide, which is all she ever does.
Alice, despite the name, is a boy and a spiteful one in a dress.
Albert, despite the name, is a girl and a spiteful one in no dress.
I enjoyed my visit with Robert but I couldn't help scribbling down notes to some of his various resident personages and I even penned poems to two of them.
Of course, I was too afraid to show these to Robert or his "inner friends," so I just surreptitiously slipped these notes into a trash can as we exited the food court, hoping Robert's bodily cellmates would not notice.
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