I was born the wrong way around. I'm sinister. Can you beleive it? I discovered this before I turned six. When I wrote it came out of my left hand, and the writting was all back-to-front, like it was made in a mirror. That got me into trouble. Lots of trouble. I was not right in this world. I was the boy from the mirror, the wolrd behind the bathroom glass, and somehow i got out swapped with my reflection, we traded places. At first it was fun. It was so cool. It was funny. My face was flipped, and scissors where flipped, and the forks and knives where on opposite hands, and it was fun. But I stayed too long, and the wind blew, and the glass locked, and that was not fun. I got stuck. I could not go home, to the world where my way of writting was good, where my inverted letters where good, where my right hand was not left, where my write hand was not wrong. I was jailed by dyslexia, and the more sadder thing was that my bestist reflection was trapped too. We where both in a world the wrong way around. Sinister, in Latin, means left-handed.
Thank you for letting me enter into your mind. Even though we hardly know each other here I am inside you. Actually I am indistiguishable from you right now. Gosh. That is a little creepy. Who knows what goes on in this mind of yours.
You don't mind if I have a look around, do you? Oh wow, nice, that is nice. I do like that, yes, very original. Well done. You have a really lovely mind, I dont know about you but meeting a new mind is one of my favorite things. It's kinda like finding an open book on the table, and you get to read only that page, the next page is still blank, it is waiting for today to end, and then while you sleep the page will be written, and in the morning you will be on a clean page. But there are so many pages before that one. And meeting a new mind you get to read some of the previous pages, the important ones have book marks, or dog ears, and some of those pages are really sad, and some are ecstatic but they are all yummy.
And that is what it is like inside you right now. Oh what's this ... OH. Okay, ooo I see you, I mean I SEE you. Very nice. I do like that, better close that door before the stream gets started. Appologies, I am hyper curious, and do get distarcted easily, and it is really cosy in here but I should get too it, I mean the last thig you would want in here is a squatter, and I should know, you see as a writter I suffer from volentary schitzophrenia. I have a whole load of people enter my mind, and camp out for months and monthson end, and that would be fine if they didn't start killing each other and generally doing horendous nasty things in there. I really can get quite noisy, so I promise I will not stay inside you for too long.
All I wanted to do was drop of some new furniture, and who know perhaps you will like it, and perhaps you will chuck it out. I am a carpenter of dreams. That is what I do, I am doing it right now, inside your head, I am indeed.
Did you know that the most important part of this article is not the dream that I graft from my imagination into you, it is not that I, transplant dreams, which is pretty radical in itself, but no that is not it. The most important thingIt is are the spaces.
I mean literally the gaps between the words. It's that bit of nothing that makes the poety possible. Actually when you think about it, those spacs are paramount, for without them space the word would not exist. And yet nobody notices the spaces.
The onlytimewenoticeis when they are not there. You see? Doesn't that penetrate you profoundly? It does me. It seems that we are programed to reward the things that exist, in this case they are a clump of letters, in a very specify order, the clump is aknowldged, in artistic terms a word is in possitive space, where all the nothing surrounding the word is negative space.
That phrase is one of my favorite. It suggests once something existed there and somehow it was subtracted from existance and left in its place a negation of it's former self, a shilloette vaccuum, which is lamenting for that thing to return. And on its return the balance would be reset to zero.
I hope you enjoyed the furniture, I hope it lies around your mind for a few hours, maybe pops up in conversation, and let you infect someone else in the way I have infected you.
Thank you for having me, perhaps now when you read the introduction to this essay the story of me as a little boy will be altered a little. Perhaps not.
Ummmm, sorry excuse, emmm, how the hell do I get out of yor head? Is there an exit?