The Love Again
As I lay in bed tonight and make the ceiling my notebook,
I compose my theory of consciousness.
Separate and distinct from all other.
I reach over the razor wire that locks out everything
that exists outside the prison of my comprehension.
There is a person it seems, unseen, occupying no space,
associated with a mind and a brain which appear
to compete for power, uncertain even
if they are identical twins
or the outcome of what seems to be two halves
of the same brain that looks like a large walnut
made of firm gelatin containing an organic electronic
device with an extreme capacity to be attached or detached,
or alternating current that switches from yes to no,
from left to right, from happy to sad, and
that frames thoughts and decisions as either or,
measuring all things from the taste of peanut butter
to the value of the universe, known or unknown.
And the sense of separateness or abstruse complexity
creating an unsolved mystery as to where the I of
is located, if located, making the body a kind of toolbox
for the brain, and the brain the toolbox for the true
being or mind or soul or spirit or
God fried rice,
wondering what and how and why and when,
and who because I might as well call myself the misty "you"
to emphasize that all that is physically tangible is
Therefore I raise myself above and beyond all other,
as though it is just me and the universe,
while I cannot exist without other for even a second
of imagined time.
What I mean to say is how can they meet me
when I cannot, with meaningful certainty,
Before we even begin to discuss having a relationship,
let's settle on how we are going to bring together
two individuals when neither of them can
This problem will require time, and while we
create billions of things that require maintenance and repairs,
we can address these unknowable persons in our spare time.
Love, John Manimas, December 27, 2020
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