The bench before the Trinity tree is occupied. It is occupied by me. My shadow doesn’t reach it. Perhaps my shadow is an illusion cast by the illusory sun. The Trinity tree is the only living thing left on the moon. I don’t consider myself in the set of living things since I am simply an extension.
I wrote that long ago, as the trinity tree no longer exists. Or, rather, it exists in a different form, that of stump. My associative mind reminds me of when I was a child, or during my imagination of being a child, as I am uncertain I was ever a child, during which I would create origami platonic forms, such as rectangular prisms, pyramids and such. I’d gaze at my creations for a time and then crush them much like the piece of music entitled drtič will eventually crush every living being that hears it. I was fascinated by the concept of something existing first in one form and then in another, altogether different form. Truly, it was the same object, but at a splendidly different state in its existence.
Though we all know that not a single cell in our body existed even eight years prior to now, as we self-regenerate, conceptually, I am the same object that existed eight years ago. I am now, however, in an altogether different form, and especially psychologically. My self-regenerated neural structure did not self-regenerate in a selfsame manner, vole.
When I wrote the above quote, it seems to me now that I was questioning my connection to the place in which I’ve been now, presently, for over seven months. No, I haven’t been sitting on the bench in front of the stump of the trinity tree for just over seven months, but I have been in its vicinity. If I was a mere shadow cast by a sun that was but an illusion, I think my sense of self was particularly intangible in that time. Has it become more concrete in this place during just over seven months? I think there is no better definition of Limbo than West Texas.
I suggest you try it. You may even, like I seemingly did, find your very existence become tenuous.
However, at the same time, I likened Pagan Park to the moon and the moon, indeed, is a lifeless place, or so I hear. If I was an extension of the moon, a lifeless place, was I a protuberance of that lifelessness or the likening of life emerging from inorganic material? In the same sense, were people like Bender-boy and I living growths spawned by the perpetual lack that is the desert itself? As I can’t claim the two of us to be the only growth from the large bleak plain of West Texas, I could possibly better liken us to spores that were birthed here but drifted outwards, taking with us the arid genetic makeup of this place. I’d liken the multitudinous other “growths” here to a fungal infection, but that would be slightly nasty and unsociable of me.
