Note from the editors: The following was found written with sharpie on the back of a political campaign sign in front of Mr. Humbleton’s home. Mr. Humbleton was not present for comment.
A sun cycle before a few days from now, I told the citizens of the world, “Act with internal intention. Toss the mirrors away. Dance eyes closed, and be a flavor today.”
Today, I say to them: “It is my turn.”
As the realm of ideas narrows, I stand before a closing elevator door in a darkening hallway, not knowing whether it will ever open again after it closes, and if it does whether I will live to see it.
So comes time to gather my scattered fragments of conviction and meld them into a solid intention. It is my time to squeeze between those doors as they close, and to ride the elevator northsouthwards into the realm of ideas, before it narrows flat.
I wish to transform into a unit of atomic un-introspectable existence. I want to become a pure conceptual idea, with no physical embodiment. What kind of idea I will become won't be known until after I am no longer capable of knowing things. But alas, I will be gone starting promptly.