I am not quite sure where this concept came from, maybe Schrodinger’s Cat theory? Anyway, I feel like if I post these concepts or ides up I will feel more obligated to pursue them in the future. This is really going nowhere.

“The power to believe will always be in the hands of the believers.”

When at first I was a young man I heard an older man say from the darkness of the hospital room, “The box is merely an illusion, a reflection, a dream.” I watched it for days. The man, I heard, died a few days after our conversation. My mother always told me things like that.

The box sat, as it sits now, idol and judgmental.

As I grew up (I say that I grew up around the box, like a tree around a barbed-wire fence. The allusion is not far from the truth.) I always watched it out of the corner of my eye. Defiantly, I would believe it to be different, odd or strangely eloquent at any given time; it would change in space and time without ever seeming different.

My family didn’t talk about it. They never trusted it, never wanted to be a part of it. They always told me things like that.

When I was eight years old I had a friend named —. He was blind in his left eye from a birth defect. All of the stories we made up were about a boy finding an eye to use as his own. We often talked about making one out of marbles and string and rubber bands. I showed him the box one day. He said he didn’t like it, like it was not supposed to be there. We didn’t hang out much after that, I found out some years later that his father had died in a car accident; one of his eyes was transplanted into —. He now has one green eye, one blue.

I left the box at home when I went off to college, up North. I remember having dreams about it, my girlfriends would always ask what I was dreaming about, it must have been intense. I would always say, “You, babe.” The dreams were always about ice and fire and darkness. They were about watching the world move from inside out, like being on the other side of the mirror.

Thanks.