I want to say outrageous things. Like: “I wish I was only consciousness for a little while. No body, no brain, no mind. Only to observe and perceive the universe, from afar, unfeeling.” No mother should say such a thing. The selfishness.
I want to take acid and become only consciousness for a little while. Also, to leave my bed unmade for a whole day.
I want to descend into the carnivalesque, Rabelais style. Let the excess take over. Like when I was a student and hid in my house for days with dozens of movies, watching one after the other without acknowledging the outside world or its wants from me. Let the body disappear behind the decadence. Leave only the eyes and the ears.
I want to cut my head and body off so I may feel better for a little while. Bottle the consciousness in a clear jar in the meantime. Put it on top of a shelf for when I’m ready to come back. No suburban mom should say such a thing. The madness.
I want to say outrageous things.
Image: Pieter Bruegel the Elder, “The Fight Between Carnival and Lent,” 1559 (Wikiart Public Domain)
The Things We Love 