Under a concrete sky, the geese and swans fought on the lake. Across the shoreline, V walked. V tried to forget the moment’s critical topic while trying not to hear the night’s waterfowl.
What was real? There seemed to be no body propelling this walk, but V could see and hear. Essentialist designs.
Turning from side to side and continuing both appeared to require effort, but who could tell. V was stuck with the fact of all observers: mediated sensation through the ultimate interpreting organ.
But what was ultimate in this case? The top level was given away when V signed the papers, unless this was the placebo case. But wouldn’t there still be a body? It was meant to be a special kind of sugar pill if it wasn’t the full thing.
What V needed was a personal frame of reference. A historical anchor. Geese did not play a role at any point previous, neither did lakes. Certainly those words had meaning and concomitant, brief, real experiences.
And then Steve woke up. “What the fuck? You took away my name and my body?”
“Sorry, but you did give permission for all of it.”
“Contracts. An abominable facet of our society. Are we done?”
“Yes. See you tomorrow.”
Roman Ryan 