I am subjected to language switches from an instance separated from my body and it is, as if I'm being drained after having been drowned in happiness. An error in my brain shows scratches on my retinas, so that everything seems impossible to decipher. I am quite content with this unpleasurable state of being, compared to what was then. Scratches on my retinas. Scrambled pictures on the screen in front of me. I should look up concepts like dungle-dangler, paper heart, self-tanner (in particular), uncle, diversity, mind-fucked (in particular, also) and virtual graveyard. The bells are louder than my foot steps.
Some might wonder, how has that creature become a being with manners?
Some also, why this effort?
I stayed in the uterus for years. I was half-boiled yolk, my thoughts a lose texture and my body not even designed, so I had no perception of the 37 degrees Celsius wrapped around, or rather floating around, or maybe swirling around, or - wait, certainly not all of those - put in that space together with that thing, that would soon become a manifestation of me, the pure embodiment of life. I would be it. It would be me.
I'm rising from the Earth, crafted by men's hands from a simple lump of clay; soon they'll hear me scream; soon they'll see me flinche the skin of their daughters; soon they'll educate me and teach me The meaning of letters and marks; soon I'll be tamed like a pet at their feet. Words emerging at the tip of my tongue. Tools like knives, forks and spoons. Well-spoken phrases and polite requests. The very foundation of syntactical structures will begin to thrive in my mind and colour the sounds from my throat. My face will become less grusome, less monstrous, less unfamiliar by the movements of my lips when I articulate every syllable carefully in the light of the fire place.
Do not judge a book by its cover, they say.
Well, I think they do anyway.
Questions wriggle free from the dull cave within the innermost part of my organism,
like squirming worms and maggots, twisting and slimy, hungry for their other halves
Reasoning brings my thoughts to boil, draws scratches on my retinas,
and my sense organs vibrate in excitement and thirst for revenge.
Because I am.