Have you ever tried to see yourself as a stranger would? To watch yourself from outside your own skin? (I have come to the conclusion that this is why we have eyes on our faces, and not on our hands, or feet; if they were not cleanly and safely fixated we would be all the time watching ourselves, and not give a lick for the world around us; which rather defeats the purpose of living.) Here is how this moment is, if i were not I but Omnipotent Stranger (today was very dead and very barren; i am completely dead; i cannot make myself feel anything at all.)
He would be looking for her, blue eyes grazing innocent across aisles and aisles of facelessness: while she shriveled boldly outside, a thousand tinny magnets flown together inside her and ripping her organs to ribbons. But no-- she did not feel worthy of that sort of violence. She had not martyred herself into flowering flames, nor disintigrated into a violent heap of ash. She had simply died. Cold hard cadaver, jostling stiffly along the nameless warm flesh of the living.
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