Life would be perfect if food were broken down into its molecular parts and could enter the body through vibratory action–a kind of quantum leaping of nutrients, which would trigger the appropriate brain chemicals. Cooking, eating, and cleaning up the detritus of the first two activities consumes far too much precious time, and doesn’t leave enough for sleeping and staring at the wall. If the act of eating consumes my time, then who is doing the consuming? I’ve never quite understood those who enjoy being consumed by food so that they might enjoy a few mouthfuls of something that’s supposed to be delightful.
In the early days of my adulthood, I wondered if it would be possible to be fed intravenously in a continuous fashion–a portable set-up, sort of like a urinary catheter, only moving in the opposite direction. But after years of wondering how this IV could be made less intrusive, with less risk of damaging veins, or of the IV becoming dislodged and leaking fluid into tissues, I’ve discarded the idea entirely. I must step back and ask myself if perfection will ever happen in this world. Yes, I suppose quantum-leaping food could be an option at some point, and I’m sure I could work off the theory of quantum smelling in order to get there, but I’m afraid that I will just have to put up with the traditional digesting process for the time being.
Another ideal of perfection would involve relegating all human interaction to the facebook method, in which flat faces trapped in an epoch of time type out words without inflection, and then they disappear when the conversation grows old. This would allow more time for my two favorite activities as listed above: sleeping and staring at the wall. When I consider a world where a lack of real interaction exists–my dream!–my mind tends to conjure up images of Ents. I’m not sure why this is. I’m guessing I would like to be an Ent because Ents are large and strong and neutral. They go with the course of nature. They don’t enjoy making snap decisions. They could go on for years mulling over the same kind of decisions that others make in days.
Yet, I’m a little stymied by their ability, as herders, to become the ones herded. Not being much of a pack animal, I can’t imagine how this process occurs. How does the herder become the herded? Perhaps this is a question that all in our society should be asking ourselves. That, however, is far too deep a question for this post. Returning to a world lacking interaction, I’ve recently pondered the notion of becoming the wall rather than the existing as the being who stares at it. This is a strange twist on the image of Enthood. Walls, traditionally, are made of the material the Ents herded, and then became. It’s an ironic twist on my essential neutrality.
I would enjoy this reality. I would enjoy being an immovable object that simply observes the world of humans without taking part in it. And, then, when the wide-awake ones notice the writing on me, the wall, I could not only be an observer but a truth-teller. As a writer/observer, transforming into a wall would be a dream come true–no longer any need for food, by quantum action or otherwise. Solid. Immovable. Able to be knocked on. Able to be painted on in outlandish colors. An artist’s dream.
If the walls had ears and eyes and lacked a mouth, the walls would be me. And maybe they are. But don’t be frightened. I’m not watching you.