When I bork, I bork, it's true. But when I bork, my hort, it borks, it only borks for you. That was the first thought that entered my mind as the two chips began vibrating in the back of my uncle's bus shaped vehicle. I knew there would be many more to come. I buckled my seatbelt and strapped myself in, my knuckles grasping the side of my kiddie carseat. I was ready.
I helicoptered through the sky like a big pizza pie. That's a moray. The apple bees would keep on burning, and the world, like Graham, would keep on turning. I felt like a random anime character from a random anime. I was the waifu simulator. I had to put on my little hat before I could become the one true one who walks through the walls. I could wear many different hats. In that sense, I was a bit like Mario from Super Mario Bros. Another thing we had in common is that we were also protagonists. Wait a minute. If I was the protagonist, and Mario was also the protagonist, and Bowser is the antagonist, then who else is also the antagonist? Who was the Bowser, or more precisely, the Baauser, to my Jordan? And further on that case, who was the Princess Peach? I sat there curled in my little ball and pondered the answer to this very important question. If there was no antagonist to oppose the protagonist, then the story would have no conflict, and wouldn't be entertaining. Almost as entertaining as an amphibious aquatic something that was nothing more than a blue peter paddle that was blowing in the wind. Justice Break. Justice Bonds. I started strumming my guitar and playing my tambourine. UAAH! I screamed at the top of my lungs. Jimmy Choo put on his Jimmy Shoe. I was nothing but a blue frog in a blue pond. I hopped from lily pad to lily pad and slowly changed my color until I turned into a brown frog. I ribbited. I was ribbiting. I could feel things that no one else felt syncing up in my head, as if my consciousness was being uploaded into the hypersphere. I wondered what that meant. I considered making an entire, forty-five minute youtube video about it, complete with a theme song, paid advertisements, and credits that discussed all of the possible theories and implications of the words that I had just thought, in my mind. By the time I had finished describing the type of YouTube video I wanted to create, I had forgotten what I would have made the video about. Oh well, it wasn't like it mattered anyways. NOOO! I screamed. I was nothing but a turtle. Wait on, hold a minute, was I stuck in an infinite loop? I couldn't remember what I wanted to make the video about, but I could distinctly remember being a hopping, color changing frog after I had screamed something. The violin was nice. It made me feel nomadic and wild, like Oscar. If the opposite of wild is tame, does that mean that the opposite of Oscar is impala? Could an impala drive a car? Could an impala drive an impala? These burning questions burned in the back of my mind, like they were pressed there by a healthy man, a welder who was probably around 30 or 31 years old now. If I was this healthy, 31-year-old welder, and I drove a tame impala, would I be running in the 90s? Wasn't Oscar also from the 90s? I crashed my car. Everything made sense now. I felt my mind exploding into a fountainhead of all knowledge, which rolled down the stairs and came to rest at the foot of a particular small dog, who was fed steak for the rest of its natural lifespan. Hinga Dinga Durgen. The tyrannosaurus from Night at the Museum chomped at me. I just kinda giggled. I knew it wasn't real. I put my hand over my nose and mouth, trying to think. My thoughts had only become succinct, concise, disjointed, and choppy. I started to need to begin to think of more complex thoughts. What, for example was the meaning of life? As far as I was aware, I was but a mere object being forced to travel across at least 4 dimensions at once, against my will, with no way to stop it. I could possibly be traveling across the 5th dimension, which I believed was reality, but as far as I was aware no human-made tool would be capable of detecting or measuring such a phenomenon. There. There we go. Was that thought deep enough for you? Let me go, you stupid hypersphere! I don't want my consciousness to be uploaded to you! I want it back in my own body! My human, robot body! However, despite the struggles of my spirit, I couldn't escape the hypersphere's clutches. There had to be some way to do it, but I with my luck, I wouldn't be able to figure it out in my lifetime. Hold on… Is birth and death the means of travel between the 5th dimension? In that sense, does reincarnation exist in the sense that you just move over to the next reality? Does that, in a sense, imply the existence of a soul, or a concept of a constant "you" across all realities? No, that was impossible. All of the realities were happening simultaneously, so only the one in that reality would die. After all, all of the previous dimensions were the same for the current dimension, so it would make sense that in the 5th dimension, the 4th dimension would remain constant. In short, I was thinking some pretty big brain Rachel thoughts. Maybe I made a mistake not talking to her during the free period earlier that day. Oh, written in the stars, a million miles away. That's where I wanted to be... er bay. I could feel the tension rising. It was swimming, like a stealthy shark, like the one from jaws. The tension swam around and around, creating ledger lines around my head. I wept.
As I wept, As I lay dying, In my Time of Dying, As My Guitar Softly Weeps, I thought. Wait. Ledger lines? As in, Heath Ledger? As in, The Joker? As in, The Comedian? As in, Owen? I gasped audibly, and slightly sarcastically. Oh my god he is the president. Illuminati confirmed. I scrubbed the stick of bamboo against my teeth intensely. I felt like a panda. I was a girl scout eating girl scout cookies. We were still in a pandemic. A little room with a little vase full of little flowers. I wasn't sure what was keeping the flowers alive, as the room didn't have any lights or windows. Perhaps it was the will of the flowers to remain alive that was keeping them alive. In a way, that was sort of beautiful. The hard rock music played like I was in the hard rock cafe, or the bass pro shops, instead of the rainforest cafe. I was both an alien, and a predator. I heard a strange noise, that sounded like a ghost in a ghost house. I pulled a flashlight out of the pocket of my tender, delicate, sophisticated, lithe, woolen, vintage, softspoken, homely, supple, velvety black cardigan, and flicked it on, fusing all of the adjectives into a spirit bomb that I fired towards the sound of the ghostly noise. It cackled like a mad scientist as it was vaporized by the blast. I caught a quick glimpse of a round ghost with angery eyes and sharp teeth. It was not the stay-puft marshmallow man, and it also was not the stay-buft bowling ball boy. Something about a slimy cane toad! I was going to go eat some wonton soup.
In a strange moment of clarity, I wondered if any of the thoughts I was thinking in my dream were reflecting in my behavior in real life. Was I sleep walking? Sleep talking? If I was, what would my uncle make of my unusual behavior? Would the questions raised by my behavior be enough to convince me to stop behaving that way? Probably not, for I was Jor-bah, the stamp collecting dentist… right? I paused for a second. What was I doing in the back of my uncle's bus shaped vehicle? This was not my beautiful car, and this was not my beautiful wife! No, something about that just didn't sit right with me somehow. I had always assumed the disconnect I felt about my identity had simply been about whether I was destined to be a dentist, or only a lowly stamp collector. Wasn't that supposed to be my conflict? Something about the human will, like the will of the flowers in the prison-like room, altering the course of destiny? Or was this supposed to be some sort of subversion of that conflict, meaning that no matter how I struggled to become a dentist, something that I was not supposed to be, I could never become one, and making my conflict instead about having to accept that I would never be anything more than a stamp collector? Or… could this be a subversion of the conflict between those two conflicts, providing a commentary on another facet of my character altogether? My logically-wired brain struggled to think critically of what that issue might be, but it escaped my focus; I could not comprehend it. Frustrated, I began weeping again. Perhaps I just wasn't smart enough to become a dentist. Perhaps I was doomed to be something I didn't want to be for the rest of my natural lifespan.
I wept, drifting through the cosmos like a 4-dimensional object. Was there something wrong with me? Questions like these were the questions I was forced to ask myself every day. Unfortunately, it was all I could do to think of an answer. If carrots had nine lives, wouldn't that make them cat carrots? Ha ha, I thought I was so funny, like Ricky or some rapping paper. I could almost feel the infinite amounts of soda gushing around in my gut as the carbonated bubbles filled my bloodstream. I was about to become a balloon, or a banana. There was no in between. I was living the dream. I was the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen. I could feel the ash and soot falling everywhere. It was comforting, in a strange way. With my back hunched like Igor, I pecked away at my little keyboard like a hungry bird pecks away at a cube of tofu. The radiant, blazing orange resounded in my mind. Eugh, I had to pretend I didn't like oranges, just because orange juice does not go well with toothpaste at all, and as a dentist, there was a 90% chance that I would be 9 in 10 dentists, meaning that I would be using toothpaste. A lot a lot a lot a lot a lot a lot of toothpaste. And I'd make you fall in love with me. I would scrub and scrub my teeth, like a panda with a stick of bamboo until they shone. Chip Skylark would be jealous of me, because my teeth were so shiny. They were the shiniest around, ask anyone. All of a sudden, a small amount of mozzarella cheese melted into my hair.
"Aw man," I said. "I've got cheese in my hair." The laugh track plaid in the background ominously. I felt like I was stuck in a dream, but also like I had insomnia. It made me feel a bit like a ceaseless flame, except that we all knew that one day my flame would cease. It's just that my flame was currently ceaseless, and its burning was the only thing keeping my mortal body, my habeus corpus, upright. It would continue to burn, like the apple bees, and the world would continue to turn, like Graham, simply because it had no reason not to. What qualified as a "reason" to burn or not to burn, to turn or not to turn? That wasn't up to me, or anyone else to decide. Indeed, my ceaseless flame was no longer ceaseless – it was but a ceaseless flame that could be ceased at any moment, for reasons beyond my understanding. This made it the worst kind of ceaseless flame: a Conditional Ceaseless Flame (CCF, not to be confused with CFL). I was hooked on learning. I was hooked on math. I was hooked on learning math. I leap frogged onto my leap pad. Wait a minute. I liked the way he said wait a minute. Curled in my little ball like a little rat. I was like a pirate. I pi-rat. Hee hee hee! He said "advertisements". When I go to the loo, I scream noo. I was one of the teletubbies, being chased by the noo-noo, our vacuum cleaner. He had now recently met god, who had finally guided onto his natural lifespan and life path by producing music, specifically guitar loops. I move to Chris phenomenon. We had to find a battle way. Wow, it sure took him a long time to think of that! They were in a pandemic, we were in a bandemic. Aw boy, thesaurus boy is going so slowly! He doesn't even know what he's saying anymore! His voice just changed! Is he is going through puberty? Is he going to become a bowling ball man? If our love is tragedy why are you my clarity? I flexed so hard that I ripped off my shirt in rage. I turned on the ignition. A lot of people have been crying lately. I wonder if that meant something. Did that mean we all needed to get our emotions out again? No, I didn't want to become plankton. I felt like I was listening to a delta safety ad, being told by an attractive reporter.
I felt like I was suspended in a space that was black, purple, red and pink, like the shadow realm. I sat up sharply in my bed, awoken in a cold sweat. An oil portrait descended from the heavens of this shadow realm-esque realm. My eyes glowing with an immortal yellow light, I gazed into the portrait as if it were the mirror of Erised, and I were but Cathedral the destroyer. However, instead of an adonis-like man, a woman in a dress, or even something abstract like shudders Jackson Pollock, what I saw in the painting was something that could not be comprehended, even by someone such as myself. It was myself, staring back at me. Was this not a portrait, but rather… a mirror? I felt like I was losing control. The control I had worked so hard to accumulate over years and years was suddenly crumbling around me, as if someone had shattered the disillusioned mirror I was staring into. With the shattering of my reflection came a metaphorical shattering of the self, at least supposedly. In truth, I didn't feel much of anything. Did that mean that I wasn't ready to develop as a character yet? Was I not ready to have my current self shattered, so that my newer, broken, yet reborn self could emerge from the shards of broken glass? Was this not what happened when I became a bean a couple of nights ago? Why couldn't I do it now? This dream made no sense. Why couldn't I develop! If I didn't develop, I couldn't grow and change as a person, and then people wouldn't like me! Nobody likes someone who doesn't change. Nobody likes me, everybody hates me. Guess I'll go eat worms, like the early bird. Speaking of early, it must be getting pretty early on in the morning, right? This dream had been going on for quite some time. Maybe it was time to go to sleep. Yeah, sleep. Time for beddy-bye. A warming, relaxing hum, similarly to that of a purring cat, played in the background, as I slowly closed my eyes, curled up into the fetal position, and dewired my brain… so I could shut down… so I could… restart. In short, I was catching some Z's.