I was there, sitting right next to my trilobite alarm clock waiting for it to ring and announce wake up time. It might sound stupid stating at time going by, but everyones mind is disastrous and if I get the time right at its first, the day's managing will be right on spot.
It was a weekend day, light clouded, windy, a sight masterpiece itself. My phone rung. It was a newspaper reporter asking what it felt like. First I wondered, then I remembered that Christian Lötherforher had died last night on anti depressants overdose. Now I was number one and it sucked.
I felt stupid myself, I had considered I was a normal person in terms of physique and carnal anhelations. But then it came the tests, and when they all finished they said I understood everything about existence but Lötherforher's mind. I know that mind's gone. I understand that. The next moment I spent it wishing I had worn a bow tie for that special's day ocasion. Then I remembered there was nobody to celebrate with. All my friends called me a complex incomprehensible loon. And it was sometimes true.
But they just can't understand that I come from a humble home with a fixation for heirlooms and ripe antiques. Every object had its story, as I had as an object. But I'm a human compounded by everything a human's made of. A subject objectified by the other subjects just because I've provides my head thought and thought even in my dreams. And I always dreamt a normal life without being pointed, but I guess its something valuable when I present it in my curriculum vitae.
I had to grow up next to stock boys and mini market managers that could spend hours talking about that blonde haired girl that brought the milk on Saturdays. I had to grow watching the sun glaze and translating it to math, music and words. I had to grow to do things a normal man wouldn't do. But now that I do I wish I was stupid enough to avoid the focal attention on me now that Lötherforher is gone. So yeah, I miss Lötherforher and his manuscripts about life and life forms, I miss his face in the cover of the magazines. I miss myself as second, now that I can't get rid of my thoughts, I won't be able to get rid of your attenttion.
I'll just wait for another baby to take that title from me. Maybe act stupid once and have some friends or fun or that things people can talk about for hours like football and gossip. But that, for me, for now, is just a plain sheet with occasional lines that would cross or gather or collide, just as me scratching in my book things I think like this trying to write a thank you speech. So thank you for calling me smart guy on first grade Stew!
And also thank you mother, father, Herbert and my childhood's porcupine Stevie, for accompanying me in this painful and solitary process. Thank you, thank you and thank you too.