"...with each eye looking in a slightly different direction."
Each of us carries around a little model of the universe. We assume
the medium in which the model operates is functioning correctly. To
imagine otherwise - that our perceptions were all wrong - means we
would have to shut down operations completely. It's a version of
"The Liar's Paradox:" How can we say "I am thinking irrationally?"
And so the mind protects itself, even when the vast surges of
dopamine we call Schizophrenia are causing chasms of logic to drop
out of our view of the world. The brain will change the universe,
change the model. But what if the outer universe lies as well?
Myths are stories that are more true than actual events. They
resonate within us because they exist in the very medium our little
model runs in. Sylvia's story is truer than history; I swear to
you that there are clones in Guelph.
-- Quaker State Tapioca Rupture
My partner left with the software company and I was
left with no
income and my wheels spinning. I spent my time making tarot cards,
and listening to the radio. I needed some money. I heard on the
radio that there was going to be a craft fair in the city of Guelph in
Saint George's Square. Tables could be rented for three dollars. I
had about enough money left to rent a table and put some gas in the
car. I had been trying to sell the tarot cards through bookstores and
head shops. Perhaps I would have better luck at this craft
It was a beautiful day. I wasn't sure where Saint George's Square
was. As I was driving, I listened to the radio for directions.
Guelph is a pretty city. I noticed some people gathered and a band
getting ready to play in a small square on the corner of Wyndham and
Quebec streets, and found parking nearby. I gathered some paintings
and my old red thrift store vintage crocodile skin suitcase which
contained the tarot cards and some books of poetry that I had made,
and made my way to the square. Sure enough, it was the place. There
was a girl named Megan renting the tables. I paid for mine, and set
it up at the edge of the square near some shrubbery, where I had a
good view of the band. I propped the paintings up against some
bushes. I don't know why I had painted those paintings.
Sometimes I feel compelled to paint. I always paint with oils; I like
the sensuous feel of the pigment slithering from the brush to canvas.
The paintings always seem to have asymmetrical faces, with each eye
looking in a slightly different direction. The paintings leaning
against the bushes seemed to be viewing the square from a couple of
I noticed a barefoot man with long hair and a tan sitting on the other
side of the square reading a book. He was very handsome. A beautiful
woman with long hair and a magazine figure was walking towards him and
I assumed she was his girlfriend, but she kept walcing past him. He
remained absorbed in his book. I hoped he would look up at me. The
sun glinted off his hair and glowed from his skin. He made me
curious. He seemed magical.
A well dressed oriental man walked across the street away from the
square, and disappeared into the entrance of a shopping complex. He
seemed to float, moving gracefully. His suit was dark and perfectly
tailored, and he carried a slim briefcase. Oddly, later in the
afternoon I noticed an identical man, walking in the same direction
and disappearing into the same shopping complex. I had a sense that
something peculiar was going on. The scene seemed staged. People
seemed to be following a script, or following orders. This made me
nervous, and excited.
I sold a few decks of cards and some poetry books, and kept running
with the change to the parking meter near where my car was parked. As
the day lengthened, I seemed to be making only enough money to feed
the parking meter. But I didn't care. The sun was shining
brilliantly and the music was entertaining. I was having a good time.