Hands folded behind my head going numb, my head feels almost weightless, it is roughly a soccer ball. My jaw feels like it could unhinge, if I’d let it, it would roll down my shirt and to the floor. The thermostat is is set to 69, but I’m sweating. It drips down my forehead and to my eyes. Sweat in my eyes. The salt, that irritates. But in this allegedly cold room, I know to what to chalk it up.
Big toes cross and the small ones twitch. Every exhalation seems to me endless–until they’re not–every inhalation, is like mountain air, it’s brisk, and I heave. It turns back dead. Like air in a tank, it empties. Like a valve, it’s steady. I close my eyes. Green shapes pulsate over black. Lines, crosses, mazes. I can’t say which, but it’s one of these. I’m not concerned with it. Not with that, and not anything other, but definitely not that. Everything I feel in this moment I’m able to explain or at least describe, all but for one.
The one thing can’t explain is the one thing I trust, more even than shapes, and that is this perception of a combined speed, weight and sound. If that doesn’t make sense, I can’t describe it. But I know it. It surrounds me. It is here. In this room but in my head, or in my body, or it is my body. Subtle but profound, everything about it is a contradiction. The sensation, is a heavy, yet weightless wind, and it thrashes around me. In and out, in brief moments, it comes and it goes. I think I hear it. I do, but once it’s here it’s gone before I know–once it’s here it is not. I’ve seen two suns and two moons, since waking. All I want is to fall asleep. I cant.
I wake up. I see darkness. If I go outside I will see the moon. I tilt the rod high. I look out a window. And it hits me. Lips, tongue, numb. It’s Novocaine. This taste. It’s purpose, in this moment. This is novocaine.