Life after social media and the meandering thought stream of deep consciousness

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It was like watching your own arm slowly, over many years, just stop working. The only real difference was that it was all happening at once, one enormous feeling of helplessness and despair, but it felt like the only thing that mattered. All that we cared about and all that we needed and would ever want was that arm that didn’t work. I kept a hook made of bone that I found along the back side, though I knew that one day the poison inside of it would fester other parts of me. Not that I felt a need to live dangerously and with recklessness, it just seemed like the right thing to do. I wanted to rip open seams all over the place, and stitch them back up with a different colour thread. I wanted to use patches with things written on the inside, so that only me and you, if you paid a close enough eye to the small details of myself, would know about it. I wanted to know that inside the leggings, were new and old ideas, thoughts, impressions and visions of a future that could hold some kind of hope, even if that future is this future, because sometimes the dreams you have will only be a memory from tommorow. But it seems like this time, the memory never happened and it was just a thought that I had about something that never took place….in a place that didn’t exist. Strange, but I know now that other thoughts are in the now and it was the truthfully neglected thoughts that made me feel like a real person. We function like machines who have forgotten their own circuitry, and maybe that’s why we feel the need to create something that remembers. Maybe.

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