All I can think about is my hunger.
Who they are. What questions to ask. The information. Breaking the law. Aging. Looking in mirrors. Knowing who they are. What I said. My thoughts. Mind readers.
Let us fill all moments with usefulness.
But what is there left for me, for contemplation?
“We must take the past on faith. There is no proof that our memories are real.”
“But they correspond with–“
“Who are you? What are these sounds? My mouth! It’s screaming!”
I will not speak up. Did you know the pain in my ears? I am unhappy.
There are no benefits to this.
Try to imagine I am just a floating consciousness without intention, history, body, bias. I am a ghost of observation. You cannot notice me; my presence will never change the outcome of an event, will never alter anyone’s behavior, will not change the scenery.
But how? What is experience if it cannot be communicated? Millions of ghosts may be recording all that transpires, invisible to us and all our machines. But they cannot speak or communicate with us; their objectivity isolates them from us.
I do not work this way. In the past I have glided through the world and taken in, without analysis or judgment, all its sensory details. Now, with this gift of language, I can relate it to you.
But language has history. It has limitations. It comes from the particularities of our body, the arrangement of fingers and tongue, ears and eyes. Language is a series of intentions. Every statement is a judgment. The truth has already been tainted.