Imagine If Someone Cared Enough to Actually Make a Documentary About *You*

Your first response to this, of course, would be to loathe the egocentricity of whomever wrote it. I know, I felt it too -- a certain self-loathing for even having thought about the idea. And self-loathing is probably as bad as one can get. But perhaps it was this distaste, this incredulity that composed the leap in the mind which then pushed me on to attempt something not so obvious. Something not so egocentric. Something greater than the sum of its part. That was a joke, by the way.

A boy gets bored of always walking around with many ideas in his head. They consume him, each one. A multitude of possibilities, yet each without a name or a home. Nothing he does in real life seems to alleviate this load on his head. He dates a girl, gets to second base and so forth, but all that does is expand the inventory.

There needs to be a release, and masturbation is only an affording pipeline at best. It actually hurts, physically hurts, this state of mind. One day he notices how the brain is inflicting trauma upon the heart, instead of protecting it, and his 'overmind' (let's just call it that to placate him) decides, ok, it is time for a medium of release.

He was almost a magnificent ping-pong player, if not for that there was a story in his head about ping-pong players, due to observations he had conducted. He did so want to be a ping-pong player, but it would be impossible, with all that fictional overlay he harbored. This was the time he would only rent videos about ping-pong with his pocket money and watch them all day, making his mother worry (about table-tennis!) and trying to get the bouncing balls to to eject from his mind.

It was when even simple communication had broken down, and his mom had to put a notebook next to him so that he may express his desire for lunch, that he found the gateway. First, he had put normal things there, like a grilled-cheese sandwich. Or fried fish. But quite soon, he realized how satisfying it was to apply unto the notebook. Some of the thoughts were being transmitted! Moved away! This was amazing, the ability to unburden, and with a pen in hand. Now, then, began the phase where the television became jealous of the dead tree, and gradually horrifying the mother.

(to be continued)