I didn’t lose consciousness so much as misplace it.
It was by choice of course… at first.
Then it began slipping and sliding of it’s own volition. I figured I’d go with it for a little while. See where it took me. I mean, it was my consciousness, it knew best, right?
Well I lost track of it during one of our adventures in ether and now it’s like the bathroom door is locked with no one inside.
I keep pounding on the door to my brain but there’s no answer. No budging of the door. The lock remains firm.
How can you lock yourself out of your own head? Huh? That’s ridiculous!
What does one do, call a locksmith? A psychic? Do mediums work on the disembodied living?
So here I float in dream either neither here nor there or elsewhere the stars shine bright through indigo candy floss.
Over the years of exploration, my consciousness and I have grown apart. It’s a fraught relationship really. It so practical and grounded, uncomfortable in these shifting scapes of bursting thought and I find bliss in the unencumbrance of stolid form, so boring and predictable.
It really didn’t like it when the pink giraffe spawned gnashing teeth to chomp and bite at it, though I knew myself that the chompy giraffes were doing it for play rather than harm and their bite was naught but something akin to a butterfly’s kiss.
It was the silk weaving rainbow garlip – something like a fluffy puppy with the face of a dead fish – that you had to watch out for. It was bright and shimmery and harmless looking with it’s iridescent fur and waggy fin/tails all deceptivelike making you think “Oh what cuteness!” While it snupped your soul with a whuf of cloud.
I digress with musings of the rainbow garlip. Mayhap a garlip consumed my slipped bits? No. I’d feel that.
I am intact, if divorce from wayward parts.
-j.e. pittman