Each finger has its own consciousness.
Last night I dreamt that I discovered a substance called ‘onesium’, which is the substance used to clean the soul and wipe away difficult memories. I also dreamed that each finger has its own consciousness.
There were more important things I wanted to write about tonight, but I’ve forgotten them. I wanted to write about the texture of living through this long summer of 2020, but the phrases and connections have evaporated. Whenever I have an idea, I must write it down immediately. I’ll never remember it later, no matter how hard I try.
But ten years later, I still remember the sight of a young couple marching along an empty desert road in Nevada. He walked on one side, she was on the other, and they both wore the saddest expressions I’d ever seen. I hope they’ve made up by now.
