you don’t understand a thing until you are able to do things with it. So we in history’s morning may have said “all is matter, stuff, material” but we did not know what we meant until the art of the potter was developed and we could shape mud and fire on the wheel. So is it with the claim: all we are is brains. First spoken by a philosophe in the 17th century it did not become true in our mouths until in the 23rd century the corporations offered The Salons of Brain Transformation.
I went there to talk to my father who was on the way out of a session.
“You are a bird. I am a bird. The sky is a bird. Time is a bird. Man and woman gain and loss life and death rembering and oblivion all are wings. Of a bird.”
“I see father. You have asked the brain molders to craft a brain for you that sees all in this avian guise.”
“No no no no no” he said.
I felt in my pants pocket for a crumpled receipt : one transformation to see my father as a bird-addled lunatic. The signature was my own, it was my own brain the wheel had spun.
I pressed 1 on the elevator and another panel opened with decimal floors. I pressed 1.0 and another panel opened with percentile floors. I pressed again button after button to specify where I wanted to descend to while the floor of the machine remained still.
“For I remember stopping by the way
And saw the potter pounding his wet clay
And with its half obliterated tongue
It murmured: gently brother, gently pray.”