Once upon a time, there
Was a forest,
was a socio-economic-nothingness. And there was teddy bear: his name was Tombert, and Tombert believed in magic. Magic was real in his mind, and consciousness was only just brief moments of psychosis. Language and metaphor were controlled schizophrenia caused by his brain growing too large in the smallness of his skull over millions of years. He tried talking about it with the Frog Princess, but she did not understand. And Tombert was sad because he loved the Frog Princess, and so he considered suicide. He had boner-dreams about the Frog Princess. But she only paid attention to Kevin Chameleon, because he could assimilate into the appearances of the external, superficial world. Kevin could be anything, and he was going places, perhaps to New York. And so Tombert continued considering suicide.
“I need to get out of here” said Tombert the Bear. “Why do I exist, why do I exist when I cannot be close to anyone, when I am not free to love and to feel loved?”
“I hate consciousness,” pouted Tombert the Bear.
Frog Princess so beautiful, said Tombert, her eyes so big, the reptilian contours of her face, how her eyes recede, magic-like, into the wringed wells of her oozing sockets, and then bulge outward again, glass orbs, hollow and filled by iridescent lakes with golden centers, how he wanted to see them closer. Frog Princess was so beautiful, but she was kind of a bitch, but it only made Tombert like her more. Tombert Longed for more money. With more money, Tombert could impress the Frog Princess, and if he could have money to dress up as nice as Kevin Chameleon, perhaps she would grow to love him. But Tombert could not find work, because he did not look nice enough to succeed in the world. Tombert’s brain continued to press against the boundary of his skull, and voices came to him in the pervasive night. There’s always a way out, they said. The dark texture of being will never leave you. No one will ever touch you. Who you are in the inside does not matter to anyone. What we feel gathers like dust in the rotting corners of the bear-bedroom. Open the only door, there is always a way out. The world is hungry for your fear. The womb of being is lined with magical acid, is a stomach, so hungry for poor Tombert. As he falls to sleep, he tries hard to think that he is following a light, and that perhaps the lights have come from the eyes of his distant Frog Princess, and he believes in it enough that it becomes real to him, and he is no longer afraid to let go of the cruel world.