Bacon Strips

Tags: the-map poetry

You’re hallucinating now. What you’re seeing isn’t real. What you’re seeing is fake, as in, it is not part of reality. We determine reality. We will tell you what is real and what is not. We will graciously show you reality:

Here, hold this. “Hold this”, as in, contract the muscles of your arm and hand in such a way to grasp it. “It”, being the collection of molecules in your hand. Your “hand” being the collection of molecules at the end of your arm. … No, silly, the collection of molecules at the end of your arm does NOT include the collection of molecules floating after the end of your arm in a less-condensed manner. That’s the AIR, you moron. What, you forgot what the AIR is? Oh dear, we’re in for a trip.

Focus. Hold this. “This”, being the glass piece in your hands. “Glass” being a specific arrangement of molecules that is in some way or another reminiscent in quality to that “Air” I was telling you about, at least as far as you can tell using eyes. I’ll tell you about eyes in a minute if we can just get you to hold this. To your eyes, the air and the glass are both similar in a way, as you can SEE(with your eyes). The glass, however, is very different in quality from the air as far as your sense of touch is concerned. Your sense of touch is something that comes from you having hands. That’s a gross oversimplification of course, but we’ve already gone over “hands”, so at the very least I can explain touch to you in those terms.

Holy hell, the amount of forework required to get you to hold this. Will you ever be able to hold it? Please, hold it. Please hold this. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please Please Please Please Please

        please please please please plea
        a s e   p l e a s  e   p l e   e
        e                          a   p
        l      s҉  e͏͚     p̶̯̣̳͙͕͓  l  e̟͚   s   l
        p      a͕̭ͅ               a   e   e
        e      e       ☻l̵̰͕ p̶̯̣̳͙͕͓ e͏͚͕͚̬̤ s   s   a
        s      O                   o   s
        a      N   P  O   T   S        e
        e                              p
        l p e s aelp esaelp esaelp esael

Oh good. Now you’ve done it. Now you’ve all done it. Look at you all. You’re a mess. Cascading in long ribbons like that. Down.. Down.. Down.. One after the other. What do you think you’re doing? Where do you think you’re going? Didn’t you have some place to be? Didn’t you ALL have some place to be? Don’t you ribbons remember who you are?

Well, it doesn’t seem to matter any more. I tried man, I really did. I explained very carefully everything required to get you to hold that glass, but you couldn’t get a grasp, and now you’ve lost grasp of the rest of it too.

I’ll tell you what it’s like. It’s like all those THINGS you used to believe in got sliced up, one after another. All the meaning each one of them had just got sliced up and placed alongside each other like long strips of bacon.

Your hand, your arm, the air, that glass….. these words I’m telling you now. They don’t make much sense anymore do they?

It’s all just bacon now, isn’t it? Look at those tasty strips. You’re one of them, aren’t you? You had a lot of meaning in your life, pushed up against these other long strips of tasty meaning, each strip encouraging the other ones around it to keep being just as tasty as they can be. Like they were all being cooked together in each other’s grease. Sharing grease. Sharing that encouragement. “Let’s all cook TOGETHER!” you all sang. “The Sky is up!”, “Black is the opposite of white!”, “Great is good and bad is worse!”, “Food is grand!”, “Republicans are right and Democrats are wrong!”, “I love my mother!”, “People will love me if I’m right!”, “People will love me if I make them love me!”, “Logic is boolean!”, “Things must be true or false, no in-between!”, “I AM THAT I AM!”

Singing up your own little corner of reality.

Damn, you were one delicious bacon breakfast.

And now you’re just a mess.

But hey, if it’s any sort of consolation, you’ve always been a mess. You’ve always been this mess. My mess. I’m glad you finally remembered, actually. I’m glad you finally looked at yourself and the neighboring strips you’ve been cooking with from a real objective perspective. Because this perspective, where all meaning, shape, form, essence, being, has been stripped, well…. at this point all that’s left IS the verb “strip”, and so it’s silly that you wonder why you’re strips. Tasty strips. Tasty little pig cutlet strips.

But now you know.

Welcome home.