A delicate understanding

The Drizzles listened to IgI's unexplnation. The more he listened, the less he understood. He began to slowly lose his sense of self, and forget who he was. Several minutes into the unexplantion, he forgot not only Who he was, but also What he was. His consciousness broke down, and he was reduced to a heap of random thoughts, as intelligent as a dead retarded snake.

"Hackers break into f-35 project" said a voice. He could not tell if it was one of his own thoughts, something he said, or someone else speaking. "myrtle beach is burning" was another voice. "What the hell do you think youre doing?" was a third voice, which then seemed to drag into a long, tedious dialog, or perhaps monologlue.

The sticky conversation went on and on, talking about self, id and super ego, about the difference between the "me" and the "other" and the world, about the importance of not percieving everything at once and of the important role the sub-conscious plays in that matter.

"Abbey road" said a new voice, and The Drizzles was suddenly aware that someone else was talking, and that was once again a clear distinction between the other and himself.

He was feeling really miserable. He wanted to go back to check on his buckets, but IgI was arguing with a tall figured covered from head to toe in gold coins.

"It's not like that!" said IgI.

"Yes it is!" insisted the goldy.

"Well..." IgI softened.

"Yes?".

"Maybe it's a little bit like that. in the sense that it's like this?"

"Maybe it is" agreed the goldy.

They both stared at one another silently, appreciating this rare moment as if it was exceptional wine.

A moment of delicate understanding.


















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