I wanted to start by saying, Space Is Cold. But, that sounds like a throw back to me. It's like saying, Once Upon A Time. The thing is, I'm not cold. On Outpost VChicago I was implanted with a therma-derm, so everything's regulated. Which is fine, I guess. But I was always of the mind that blankets weren't just for warmth, anyways.
I think the hardest thing to get used to is being naked. Back home, I was only naked for a small part of the day, in the bathroom. I didn't even sleep naked, because of the kids. I went through so much trouble showing them beautiful art, and explaining that the human body was nothing to be embarrassed about, but now I'm having trouble remembering if they ever saw me without a t-shirt and shorts. Maybe it would have been different if they had been, you know, my kids.
The Controllers said it was easier to monitor, and minimize any risks to my health, if there were less fabrics for the "luel crits" to hide in. Sometimes they would look at one another and say, "Membah Dave Jebbs?" But that made little sense to me. Call it what you want, but I was too astonished that anyone with an accent like that could possible be in the position these guys were in. So, I don't know why I even mention Dave Jebbs, because I haven't the slightest who he was or what happened to him, and with their drawl, maybe that's not what they were saying anyways. Maybe they were saying, "Day Beds."
I've been by myself for forty-nine days, and I still look back at whatever I've been sitting on to make sure I didn't leave any little...ass bits, I guess. Everything's so sanitary here, I don't think I could work up a sweat if I wanted to, with the humidity control. I thought I would become more me, being naked all the time. I thought I would all at once be the end of every movie about self-discovery. That's what I told myself, but feeling the tip of my penis against my leg all the time was a distraction, I didn't see how I was going to get through my spirit walk with my cold penis tip always jouncing against my leg. So, I haven't become more me, in fact, I think I'm losing me, or whatever I once thought made me up.
Partly, well, more than partly, is the lack of hair. No fabrics means no hair, too. Being bald I can deal with, I had been bald before, during the Fire. But, even then, I had eye brows. A person looks so alien without eye brows, and I find it hard to look at myself in the mirror. The thing is, everything's so polished here, it's all reflective, so it's hard not to catch little glimpses of yourself.
When I've been stripped of everything, I should be becoming all that I am, but, instead, I can't even empathize with the person looking back at me. The eyes are the same, well, almost. Sometimes I can catch the glint, the only tell-tale of the UV coating. I'm telling you, everything: regulated.
But despite the loss of self, or the straying from it, really, how close was I to it in the first place? I remember an interesting exercise in one of the labs was to draw your face. Without a mirror or photograph, you were supposed to draw your own face. Well, no one could do it, of course. Not even Forester, and it was always a big deal when he couldn't do something. I couldn't even come close, I couldn't even lie and say, "well, this is how I think of myself." Because, I certainly hope that wasn't the case. I wonder if what I look like now is any closer to the drawing I made?
Everyday I'm becoming less and less convinced of myself, and maybe that's what the Controllers want, anyways. This flesh doesn't even feel like mine anymore, and I can't remember if it's because of the Fire, or VChicago.
Not only am I losing myself in all this, I'm losing others. I used to be amazed at how many possibilities there were in people, and wonder what may have been if there had been no wars to quell the surge of human progression. But now, I don't feel very special at all, and I don't really think much would have come out of having more Johnsons or Goldsteins around.
Forty-Nine days and this is the first I've written anything. They told me I should write frequently, it would be a good exercise for me. This is the first time I've written anything because I know everything is monitored. I wondered what the Controllers would think of me, and I fooled myself into thinking they wouldn't understand because they were idiots. And I fooled myself into thinking they were idiots. So, why don't I just address all this to the Controllers? I guess, because I'm writing for...me. I hope. I guess I'm writing these letters in the hope that they'll get to me sometime, where ever I am.
I'm surprised I have fingernails, there is some familiarity in that. If they were longer, I might try to cut myself, some red in all this white. But one of the injections halted the growth of my keratin.
No comments:
Post a Comment