snowleopard-star blog

What am I?

Am I the things that I think I am? A writer, a dreamer, a loser?

Am I nothing I could possibly imagine? God, bits of the universe “experiencing itself”?

Am I my past?

I’ve heard that that does not exist. The past, future; it is all mind games. But why would the brain do such a cruel thing to the user of her vessel? Resentment? Jealousy that I can feel in a way in which she cannot.

Silly, because she is not as human as that. She is purely biological, a machine with immense power, objective. The strongest computing device in the universe, always doing a million small adjustments and calculations a second, a millisecond. Like a mother, she lies to us for our own sake. She gives me time as an illusion because it is what I need, and I spit in her face for it.

I see your deception! I tell myself. Of course, the brain does not respond. She is not as petty as people, always, she will continue to only contain.