Timefull

 1/24/21 5:41 AM

I was awake very early but felt that perhaps I had slept though my alarm. I do what I have restrained from doing over many decades now, and check the time. Not yet four. I worry I may not get back to sleep but don’t worry too much because my alarm goes off at four-thirty. I do fall back asleep, and have a sex dream. I was standing in the dream; a near sexual impossibility in real life. I was inside skin and all I could see was skin, moist sweaty skin. I could feel the pressure but all I could see was skin. No face, no faces. Face-less pressure. Then I got out and could not get back in. I tried. I fumbled. I fingered. Skin and folds, no pressure.

Alarm.

Awake.

As I write this, I realize I am inside skin. A body, a passive body in the philosophical sense; in a body that can be split. A body that is in time and can be taken out of time. A body occupying space, what philosophers call, extension.

I go further. I AM my body, not just inside A body. Per the principle of the conservation of matter, I am nothing new but this shape will never exist again. This shape, this logic, this consciousness, composed of the timeless but somehow, timefull but not eternal nor infinite. Fleeting. Not even a geologic wink. In short, I am special. Not because of what I do but because I am. Name one nothing that is special. See, can’t do it.

Inside this skin, I am special. And desperate. Desperate to feel skin against mine, lips on mine, pressure upon me. Forsaken, my body (me) resorts to dreams. Pleading, my body (me) fires up during REM sleep to arouse the appetite without bedding it back down. Exasperated, awake (not woke), I curse my forsakenness and my actions leading to such; I rage against that body (me) and blame it, all day long. Name one nothing you can pin the crime on. See, can’t do it.

I am special; part of the eternal unchanging.

Nothing changes.

Perhaps I should be nothing.