Lizard Tales 1

After reading a book for a while my thoughts assume an unnatural clarity. My internal voice narrates succinctly and fluidly – as if life, moment to moment, was a continuation of the book I had just finished – in the same style as, say, Hemingway. Thoughts are simple, bare, and seem nothing more than instant reflections of the seen world. As if everything exists in words and words are the anchors of existence. And when this clarity dawns, I start to realize thing about my life that were right there in front of me all along but that I never noticed before. Like I am sitting in my kitchen and I see the yellow bisquick box on the windowsill next to the white box of powdered milk and I realize that I have been living off of biscuists, coffee, and marijuana smoke for this entire summer. That is probably why I feel nothing except a dull ache in my stomach as I sit here at the breakfast table, naked, at 1:30 on a Wednesday afternoon.