So in my last blog I was talking about a friend that had a few drinks and lost control in a way that can be described as “cataclysmic”. What I neglected to mention was a conversation that managed to happen in the middle of all this madness.
You see, while we were all talking we somehow managed to land on the subject of pets. Specifically pets that had passed away. Dead pets, as it were. “Eris” decided that this was a prime opportunity to drop upon us a paranormal logic loop that ranked somewhere near Ragnarök in it’s insanity.
She opens with, and I quote, “I had a journal as a kid. I wrote about a journal I don’t remember having.”
My mind tares a little.
I asked if she miss-spoke and in fact wrote about a GERBIL she didn’t remember having. She assured me that this was not the case and that I had heard her correctly the first time. Though she went on to mention that she had actually owned a gerbil at one point named “Sneakers”. Yet after hearing about her Inception-style-journal-loop I was convinced that “Sneakers” was quite literally just a shoe in a gerbil cage. But I couldn’t think about that. There was a second book.
Everyone in the room was baffled by this turn of events and scrounged to find a shred of reason. Where had this other journal come from? Who was writing in it? How did she not remember it and still write about it? What was in it? What if the second mystery journal was writing bout the first original one?! An adaptation of M.C. Escher’s “Drawing hands” came to mind, instead depicting two journals writing each other. But this thought was replaced by deeper, darker, imaginings. What if there was more then two journals…
What if there was a labyrinth of journals, all writing about each other in a network of children’s english, filled with loop-holes and traps and dead ends, all eventually leading to a single solitary book that contained an entry about a kid who really wanted a gerbil so she got a cage for one and put a shoe in it?!
When we asked her for context, ANY context to the situation, she laughed. LAUGHED. Our suffering AMUSED her. That is because, to her, there WAS no labyrinth. No journals. She had no idea what we were even talking about anymore. She didn’t CARE. She was too busy MAKING OUT WITH AN OPEN FLAME.
Watching this situation unfold was like starring into the void. It just went on forever. No limit. No logic. No reason.