Consciousness is a rumor

December 18, 2011


Trying to remember what innocence was like. Its impossible. I suppose history is against us. Every generation thinks that somewhere along the way they lost their innocence. For us it was Kennedy’s assassination. For the generation in college it was 911. For our parents it was Pearl Harbor. Or maybe The Crash. But the world has never been innocent. We’ve just been stupid.

So I’ve imposed innocence on this story. I’ve treated childhood like a cartoon. That everything is exaggerated. Or surreal. Or big. Or completely misunderstood. Sometimes I feel consciousness is a rumor.

…………..

EYE BALL

 

Little Alvin McGuire sat in his stroller. Slurping back some snot. That had rolled listlessly out of his nose. Like some primordial intelligence. Out of the froth of time. Alvin’s eyes were wide open. Shut. Open. He loved his lids. Like a saloon owner likes that swinging door. Like the massage therapist likes those tugs. Those mugs. Like the housewife adores. That brand new screen door. Flies out. Kids in. So Alvin loved his lids. The way they swung open. So blue. His eyes. Like a tropical sea. Clear as glass. That you could see through. At the Angel fish. Waxing those wings. Strutting their wares. Down Yonge Street. Carrying brightly lit bags out of fancy shops. And the sharks moving slowly in smaller and smaller circles. Pimps in Cadillacs. Fresh. Could eyes look fresh? Alvin’s did. Everything was an adventure. Inside them. Like learning a new language. New words. Pinatha. That was something. Meaning something. Alvin looked around. No one paid much attention to little Alvin sitting in his stroller. Except the eye ball. Alvin looked up at the eye ball. A monitor. Fastened to the ceiling. But not to Alvin. It was an eyeball. Was it a warning of nearby alligators? Alligators frightened Alvin. It was mostly the small warts on their snouts. And the wicked smile. Reborn something or other. Bad breath. Mostly retired car dealers. Caused from too much smoking. Or was it the presence of the Merrimack? Alvin gurgled with laughter. The eye ball above him had another eye ball inside it. A dream inside a dream. An infomercial. It was a sad eye. Dry. Itchy. A man was raising a tube above this eye ball. Could have been a gun. Was he going to blow his brains. Out. All over the pharmacy floor. Where someone would surely slip. Spend months in rehab. Alvin reached out. To the applicator. A golden drop of gob, it could have been snot, descended out of the nostril. Applicator. Slowly. Like a dance. And dipped its toe gently into the pupil. Like a flower just come to bloom, the eye changed from its desert personality to a more tropical incline. The eye ball got smaller until it fell into a face. The face smiled. Inside the monitor. Inside the eye ball. And it seemed to Alvin that the eye ball was God. That God was smiling. Alvin squirmed in his stroller. He needed some of that miracle snot. That stuff that put you in touch with the Supreme Being. He looked around. There were a lot of miracle tubes of snot on the shelves. Which one could he reach? Alvin burped. That looked good, he thought. And reached out for a package near him. There was a large word on the package. Hemorrhoid. He could not say the word. But he loved the way the h’s rhymed.

 

3 Responses to “Consciousness is a rumor”

  1. […] Trying to remember what innocence was like. Its impossible. I suppose history is against us. Every generation thinks that somewhere along the way they lost their innocence. For us it was Kennedy’s assassination. For the generation in college it was 911. For our parents it was Pearl Harbor. Or maybe The Crash. But the world has never been innocent. We’ve just been stupid. So I’ve imposed innocence on this story. I’ve treated childhood like a cartoon. That everything is exaggerated. … more here […]

  2. Really like this. The imagery is great and the short sentences result in a glorious rhythm.

    Great stuff here.

  3. “He loved his lids.” I felt as if I was just clued in to a delightful insight.

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