And what if cookie monster cupcakes are alive but can’t talk because they have cookies in their mouths?
If you are sitting inside yourself, you might stop and imagine what would happen if you got so far outside of it that you became a cupcake on the ground somewhere, like Africa. Sitting on the ground, maybe part of your cake section gone and still with your swirl of pink frosting intact. I’ve been in my bed, like this, in a skin of me, in my legs, all day long, and the sun is down and I wonder if I will go to a different place where the way I am is irrelevant and falls away, and I inch up that cyclone of circuitous change where you sway back and forth between ideals but the context is not the same as you wind into each new orbital. Will I go somewhere where I become endlessly hungry and there is no food and there is something worse that I have to worry about, or will I go somewhere where sleep is not needed, and I can do anything all the time, or will I go somewhere where no one understands what I am saying but they think I’m cute, so I can relax, and I become a cat? Or will I go somewhere with little oxygen, and I get tired and I can only be awake for two hours a day, and my life is devoid of progress save one small feat, such as having been able to watch all of “Arrested Development” again before I die? Or knit a sweater. Or will I go somewhere where no one can get pregnant, and the only person who can doesn’t want it, and then suddenly we are anti-choice, and I feel ashamed but scared for the end of life? Or will I eat so much butter that I will float in the next Biblical flood and God will laugh and say “I had a plan for you,” and I will be saved by something I refuse to believe, and I will laugh and then stab myself to wake up and then die and end up in heaven and the only people who survive the flood repopulate the world and worship women and butter and the next stage of religion and the world is quite opposite to now? Or am I a dog or a pillow or a desk or a bag of chips or a vampire goat rainbow spirit? Will the world ever switch with us and go to the bars and sleep while we spin around endlessly for its sake, or not? And is there anyone who knows whether I’ll need to use my legs after 30 more years, and will they be ok, or what? And what if cookie monster cupcakes are alive but can’t talk because they have cookies in their mouths? And what if bread created the gluten free propaganda because it’s an alien trying to take over the world? I really like bread. And what if I become a bread alien? And what if bread had Roe vs. Wade and the mother could stop the yeast, because it wasn’t ready, and it wasn’t an alien at all, but it was a responsible person, but then we couldn’t eat very much bread anymore. Or maybe the bread aliens invented the gluten free propaganda because they passed Roe vs. Wade, and they want to give us realistic expectations of how much bread there will be for us all. And here I think I am, or something.