I can’t stop thinking about that volcano in Spain right now that has displaced almost 8000 people. I’d try not to think about if I could,
but each time I change the station in my head I envision an autistic boy with his back to me playing at a computer at his desk,
an autistic boy trying to distract himself from the crawling, dry fecal matter in his soiled pants that haven’t been washed for who knows how long,
so I go back to that volcano in Spain.
I don’t know, maybe I’m just disgusted with the lack of compassion I’m seeing in the world and want to throw a tantrum on par with the size of that volcano, flow down over my embankments and wipe out any property in my path
like a karmic reminder that nature has its own ideas about taxation.
I tell myself something oblique in association and content, and also more in line with the apperceptive mode of cognition, in order to distract myself from the fact that thinking this way is just as neglectful,
like maybe my dilemma has something to do with how, when my father was alive, he used to turn his back to me whenever I asked him about mom.
Excuse me, I’d say, and then he’d turn back around and pretend it was an accident that he ignored me. Except accidents don’t continue to happen. They happen once and happen hard, and always leave destruction where they were, leave destruction and some newly regenerated ground through which new growth can come through,
and this is a lot like how I keep my ego and its laundry list of disappointments in check now, I want to say. But then I think, you would say that, being like both an angry autistic boy, and a volcano.