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

is enormous,

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

not me. 


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,

be located?

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

be located?

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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