I know that it is just a matter of hauling it up. Bringing it out. Of getting it to the surface somehow.
Like an expecting mother is rarely wrong when she dreams of the sex of her unborn child. Did you know about this? She knows… but she could never explain how she knows if she tried.
How the hell does she know?
And like somewhere way down inside the sticky folds of your brain lives the combination to the lock on your locker from when you were in sixth grade. You could find it if only you knew how. Maybe with drugs. Maybe hypnosis. Maybe with electric prods poking directly into your skull.
It’s in there.
But be careful. You can’t just go around getting stuff out of your brain the way you get oil out of the ground. Popping holes. Drilling down. Washing the remnants out with high pressure injections.
Believe me: I have tried all that, and all it got me was these weird eye twitches and I can’t ever make right-hand turns anymore.
But even so, I once solved the Great, Great Mystery of Why-My-Ex-Left-Me while sucking nitrous oxide in the dentist’s chair. Or rather, that was where the Great, Great Mystery solved itself. Where it revealed itself to me.
And when I was in school, all the answers to test questions were in a Universal Answer Key that I stored on a shelf in my head.
These days, I use the services of Tarab. He’s a demonic hallucination – but a wise hallucination – who comes to my bedside while I sleep. Tarab tells me things that I don’t know I know.
But Tarab cannot tell me where my brother is today, and the Universal Answer Key shows nothing. Nitrous oxide won’t tell me, hypnotism won’t help me, and electric prods could never hit the right spot.
Tarab does not know because I do not know.
No part of me knows where my brother is.
But I believe that part of Aesop does.
He will deny it, of course. He will say, “I’ve wracked my brain but I still can’t think of a single lead!”
There is nothing in my hands. There is nothing up my sleeves. And for my next trick, I will find my brother using only his ex, one large spliff, and a couple of blind spot drawings.
Because I know Aesop knows more than he knows he knows.
(to be continued…)
“Life is only a Rorschach ink blot, you know.” – Alan Watts