Outside-In

I’ve always felt very unattached to my own body. When I’m trapped and moored by bones, I like to pretend I’m not. I like to imagine I can hover or morph.

I’ve never been a sensual person: I don’t really care for eating and tasting, and sex and touching. I’ve always looked at the world with my inner eye instead of the two pieces of blue that blink. I’ve always been about the feelings that shoot up my spine rather than what pumps through the blood.

If I could download my brain on to the internet and slink out of my skin, I probably would. Disease and death are overrated.

I remember speaking in the third-person when I was young all the time. I had trouble with the concept of “I”: it took me a while to look straight in the mirror and recognize that I wasn’t a substance floating outside and looking down at everything else.

Take your pick: ghost, god, or machine. But never human, never—except for language.