Hive Mind

A lot of people in my apartment were pretty worried that the people in the apartment next door were part of a hive mind; ie that they had no sense of individuality, any more than your heart has a sense of individuality and wants to wander free of your body and take a package tour to Peru, no your heart doesn’t know what it’s missing or probably even more accurately your heart isn’t the sort of agent that could be missing out, it’s just part of something bigger, like the the second letter e in the word “eye”.  Anyway Bruno thought that the people next door viewed themselves like that, or maybe that they were like that and didn’t view themselves at all, and the mother who stayed up late washing her husband’s underwear and got up early making sandwiches for her six children was so subjugated that she didn’t even have a separate consciousness, or maybe she never did?  Maybe Ruth Feldman was just a shape Bruno could dimly perceive in the stone of that next door family as Michelangelo could glimpse the borning Moses in the quarry a shape that had never chosen to be or do, an eddy in a stream of biological and cultural messages proeeding from past to future, that someday might be a person.  “You’re full of shit, Bruno.” I said “Ruth Feldman is nothing like that. I know Ruth Feldman because my mother was like that.  She made her choices.”  “Hey don’t talk about her like that.” said Bruno “She’s my mother too.”


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