‘He died and went to pizza heaven’. The thought trickled slowly and stupidly into my brain. It trickled into my brain with a dreadful slow inevitability. He died and went to pizza heaven. The thought was stuck in my head and I couldn’t get it out! ‘Move on fella,’ I told myself urgently, ‘move on and stop thinking the same old thought over and over again.’ I was stuck in my own head though; I was very stuck indeed. ‘For God’s sake just move on,’ I told myself, ‘get on with your life!’ I wanted to get on with my life, I realised, but I just didn’t know how. I didn’t know what the next step was. ‘He died,’ I told myself, ‘he died and went to pizza heaven.’
What’s it like to be me?’ I wondered, ‘what kind of a thing would that be? What would it feel like?’ Not that I really cared of course – I had other things on my mind. I had other fish to fry, so to speak. All sorts of fish. Big ones and little ones. Fat ones and skinny ones. ‘What’s it really like to be me?’ I asked myself absentmindedly. My mind was elsewhere though – my mind was always elsewhere. Never here, always elsewhere. I didn’t even know where ‘here’ was. Who does anyway? Who knows anything about anything anyway? That’s not what it’s all about of course – it really isn’t what it’s all about. We all ask that same old question from time to time don’t we? ‘What it’s all about?’ we ask ourselves solemnly. But we don’t mean it, of course. We don’t really want to know. It’s only a figure of speech…
My mind was playing tricks on me – it was feeding me false info, as always. It’s dependable in that regard if in no other. So very dependable. I was in a pickle as usual – I had messed up my life. I always do. I miss my life up every time – that’s actually nothing new! It’s the sense déjà vu that lets you know. That old old sense of déjà vu. ‘Look, you did it again’, the déjà vu tells you – ‘You went and did it again…’ It was just me and my mind and my mind was the co-pilot, feeding me false information all the time. Telling me that everything was fine, telling me that everything was great, telling me that everything was going to be OK. None of this was true however – my world was about to implode and – as always – I am the last to know. It comes as a surprise to me every time.
‘Be a man and own up to your filthy lies,’ my conscience told me scathingly, but I had no intention of owning up to my lies. I had no intention at all. My lies were all I had. My lies were everything. My lies were the sun and the moon to me – I really don’t know what I would do without them! I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on, I swear. I’d be lost. It’s all very well my conscience telling me to be a man and own up to my filthy lies but it’s me that has to live with the consequences of that. But what does my conscience care anyway – it’s squeaky-clean either way. My conscience is going to be squeaky-clean whether I choose to listen to it or whether I totally ignore it. No wonder it’s always so goddamn self-righteous – it’s got absolutely nothing to lose. I on the other hand have a great deal to lose by coming clean in the way that my sanctimonious conscience advises me to. I’ve got everything to lose and I’m afraid I’m just not willing to pay that price.
Anything normal is ‘a world’ and absolutely anything will become normal once you have had a bit of time to get used to it! That covers all eventualities you see. The most preposterous situations can become normal at the drop of a hat and they regularly do. They become normal as a matter of course. It’s normal for them to become normal. My mind feeds me ludicrous lies purely for the sake of taking the piss out of me and I believe them wholeheartedly like the gullible fool I am. I swallow them down whole – I can’t believe my mind’s lies quickly enough, in fact. I really can’t. I’m in a desperate hurry to believe them. I’m tripping up over my own feet – that’s how much of a rush I am in to believe my mind’s lies! My mind is feeding me lies about the False Reality and that reality has already become as normal as normal could be to me. If you took it away from me I’d be frightened. I’d be shitting myself. What is fear after all but that terrible feeling we get when someone comes along and takes whatever preposterous situation it is that constitutes our ‘normality’ away from us?