B is for Bedside Metaphors…

I was on the threshold of understanding something without being able to muster the required framework for comprehension. My hospital bed had become a battlefield for forces that deemed it necessary to play out a metaphor whilst messing with my mental state. Being lost in the world that had grown out of the ward, the world of Fly-Traps and fairy-tales, was to be purposely placed in a position where nothing on the outside could affect the deep confusion that had always been contained within. I had set myself a task and that had been to write it out, to record events as they happened, to do a Pepys so that history could be reminded of what took place. All that was before the time in which the pothole had appeared had disappeared and all that came afterwards had greedily swallowed all that I had left. And once I was in there, the only way out was to travel through it, squeeze through its intestinal logic with the hope of emerging with a handful of marbles still intact. But there was always the big fat rabbit, with blond hair, talking to me from beyond the TV. According to the rabbit, I should have been taking up arms against the unseen invader, doing my duty and joining the battle against everything that set itself against our kingdom. I tried to locate my remote control, but it had been hidden from view. I had been abandoned in a world that was not of my own making and I was tasked with making sense of it.

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