Contamination

Sleep has no boundaries. Many people who like to think about things have noticed this. Have you? It’s not just that the process of falling asleep is slow: it is more than that. Sometimes, I am both at once, that is awake and asleep. My body is stiff with rigor mortis, and I wander through a temperate rainforest.

All animals sleep in ways. There is an invisible zoo of different types of sleep. Nematodes, for example, have been observed sleeping. An animal that is 0.1 mm long must have very small dreams. I can see it now. The dream is projected in front of me like a shadow on the wall of a cave. The dream is so small that its story makes no sense. There is no beginning or end, but only a quick rising action.

We all get up from sleep, sometimes, humming sounds that sound like music. The music mimics the structure of our dreams, and that, in turn, mimics our waking life. Each are very bad at mimicking the other. I am grateful for this. If each was perfect at mimicking the other, then they would become the same. But, would our dreams become waking life or would our waking like become our dreams? Probably neither. Each would melt into the other before a hopper pushes our contaminated sludge into a mold, and we would end up in a dump or an ocean to last another thousand years before we are contaminated again.

Contamination is inevitable and constant. People who refer to cities as melting pots don’t understand this. A melting pot creates total contamination. Each thing will completely and utterly mix, but this would mean that things could not be further contaminated. It is obvious to those who like to think, that, contamination is still happening. Have you noticed? Cities are more like stews. They are a chunky old world stews, before we had emulsion blenders. Every flavor seeps into the next, but there are still obvious chunks of carrots, mushrooms and kidney beans. However, contamination is happening faster than ever. If people were mushrooms, then our mycelium would run deep into clay and sand soils. Our spores would easily travel up into the ionosphere and translate their genetic data across the Aging World.

I wonder. Are people around the world more similar now than they were before the great anthro-contamination?

Many of us hate contamination, or at least dislike it. Contamination is hard to think about, for those who try. Do you try? I do. I dream, and I am in my mind. I wake up, and I am in my room. I go out, and I am in my car. Scientists love cars. The gasoline acts as an infinite heat well, creating an isothermal system. The doors act as a container, creating Isochoric system. Since the car is not airtight, it is also isobaric. Oh no! Gasoline can run out. There is no real infinite heat-well! This doesn’t bother an actual Scientists, since they care about what is real and not what is idyllic. Scientists are not afraid of contamination. However, no one is an actual Scientist, nor are people Capitalists. Capitalists can only imagine isolated things, and then imagine more of it. To call someone a Capitalist would be unfair to People and Capitalists.

People are actually just afraid. I am a person, because I am afraid of contamination. I am afraid of the contamination between my waking life and my dreams.

…

Gertuin wakes up. Their bed has no sheets, but it has a quilt and another quilt. The order of layers from bottom up goes as such: floor, bead, quilt, Gertuin and another quilt. They are a casserole. Gertuin made the quilt out of childhood t-shirts. This is a lie. Gertuin pretends this, however, they are actually t-shirts from Goodwill. If the quilt was viewed from very far away, it would be a nasty brown. Close up, the quilt is an assortment of colors which are so bright they make one squint. It is a good conversation started.

“Yeah, I chose the colors for the quilt to wake me up. You know. It’s like a splash in the face.”

People don’t seem to have much to say after that, but some do.

“I try to think of coffee as I wake up.”

Or.

“I literally suicide jump out of my bed to wake up. It’s like a four foot fall onto my back.”

“You mean you figuratively suicide jump, and it’s literally a four foot drop.”

Gertiun will meditate all day on color. Color is not just its color. Color is its shade, texture, and reflectivity. But, colors also have sounds, shapes and feelings.

“One, two, three is green. Not just them independently or even added together. It’s the sequence that’s green. But, green like a plant is green not like a cran. You know? It’s, like, got to grow.”

“You say crayon like cran, but it’s crayon.”

Color especially has sound. Scientists and Capitalists try to separate colors and sounds. For Gertuin they have completely contaminated each other.

“What scientists forget is that sounds and colors are not just compression waves and electromagnetic radiation. You get me. They are more than that.”

“I, yeah, like how people wonder if math is invented or discovered.”

“Um… kind of. But, no, I am saying something very very different.”

“No, no. I think we are saying the same thing. If math is real, like the New World or whatever, then can we invent it, or do we discover it? Well, we discovered the New World, so we definitely discovered math.”

“Umm… sure.”

“I am going to get a drink.”

When the colors in the room don’t match the music at the party, it feels like two rocks are rubbing against each other. The dust which results from the rubbing rocks depends on how hard each rock is. If both rocks are soft, the dust is an equal mixture of both. If one is harder than the other, the dust is mostly made of the softer one. Songs with three beats per measure — [one, two, three, one, two, three,…] — are green of course. But, screaming is red.

“Help!”

“Someone call an ambulance.”

“Does someone know CPR?”

“It looks like a stroke. CPR won’t help.”

“What. Yes is will.”

Red is the color of a list of prime numbers — [1, 2, 3, 5, 7…] — but that is a mat red. The red of a scream is glossy. She recognized the man who had the stroke.

“You’re a synesthesiac, aren’t you?”

“Well, I think we all are. Just think of all the words we use to describe things which overlap sensory domains.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you get what I mean.”

“No. But, that’s ok.

“Yeah, it’s ok. But, I don’t understand where we are. I thought we were at the party. Is this a temperate rainforest?”

“Yeah, the party was hours ago. This is where your family is from.”

The forest was dense with douglas firs and sword ferns. The old limbs, which are now shaded by the new canopy, are gilded in moss and lichen, like a man with a toupee. The shaggy tree’s are real, like how math is real. It is green like [1, 2, 3], vivid and musical. Gertuin recognizes that they’re in a dream. Nerves take hold, and Gertuin feels stiff as a board. That’s because I am laying in bed, asleep. Gertuin focuses on where they want to move. A cabin in the forest has a hotel inside. The Bellhop takes Gertuin’s luggage and lugs it to the elevator.

“Wow, bottom floor. I don’t envy you.”

“Why what’s down there”

“The thing you are afraid of”

“ I am not scared. I want to know.”

Gertuin lays back. Their therapist is sitting on their chest.

“What am I afraid of?”

“Yourself.”

“That’s a cliche. You actually don’t know anything do you? Only what you’ve been told and that’s it!”

Gertuin opens their eyes. It’s dark. They are in bed and can hear the soft chatter of people who did not leave after the disruption. Gertuin couldn’t move. A weight on their chest was holding them down. The psychologist’s dark figure was visible above them. It’s hard to breath.

“I am afraid of strokes.”

“Why is that?”

“They don’t just happen to smokers. They happen to everyone. It doesn’t matter who you are. Your body is capable of changing itself quickly, and it’s out of your control. But, it’s not just your body that changes, it’s how you know your body. You know?”

“It’s a good thing you don’t know your body anyway, then. So, when it changes, you won’t know what you’ve lost and what you’ve gained.”

It’s true. When things move slowly, it’s hard to know if you have changed. Yet when things change quickly, it’s difficult to remember what has changed. Gertuin recalls a long relationship with a baker from Germany. The carrot cake was the best tasting, but the croissants were the most musical. It was polyphonic like Bach’s Goldberg Variations. Each one is the same but not exactly the same. They had lived together for two years, but what did they look like?

“I don’t remember why we broke up. I think I might have not done the best thing, I think.”

“You had a good reasons while it was happening.”

“No, no, yeah. I’m fine, just in a mood.”

“Mmhm.”

“Would you like to go for a walk-hike thing. I know a good spot real close.”

The forest of fir trees ends abruptly, so the unadulterated evening light filters through the side of the forest. The forest ends as if the person building it gave up halfway through. Naked trunks were exposed to clear cut air.

“It’s like a photoshoot or movie lighting.”

“Work it! Work it!”

“Funny”

“But, yeah. It is odd how beautiful literal devastation can be. You know?”

“Mmm. Well the clear cut isn’t beautiful it’s the trees.”

“Yeah, but it is this boundary between the two that is mesmerizing.”

“If it was mesmerizing we wouldn’t be talking.”

“OK, but you understand right.”

Sitting next to someone has its own pleasure, but also tension. Quiet. What are they thinking? Do they want to leave? The music is in my chest. There is a soft warmth and also a heaviness. Meditating on color is not a peaceful thing. It’s uncomfortable. The moss is soft. The air is sticky. How long have we been here. Should we leave?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Um… Nothing.”

“You gotta be thinking about something.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember what you were just thinking about?”

“I was thinking about a lot of things you know I am not sure how interesting it is and all but just how it’s always about anticipation what’s next what’s next and even though I enjoy doing the thing I am doing there is always a nagging which tells me to get on with the next thing and yeah that’s kind of the jist of what I was thinking and also there are wholesome things and things which are considered not wholesome and those things are normally addicting and you try to do what you think is good but really it’s just what’s my next snack or should I have a glass of wine when we leave. Ok, I am not sure that I am making much sense.”

“Are you saying you want to go? Do you want to go?”

“Not in particular. Do you?

“I can go when you feel like it?”

“Same.”

“Ok”

There is no point in resisting sometimes. We are the way we are, because that’s how we are. We tell are children a version of this, but we often don’t live up to the standards we impose on our children. I am unique. I am the best at what I do best. Yet, we are never as close as we want to what is expected. We are never isoexpected. But, children are so young. I guess, that’s the point of children. They are young so that they do not already think they know, or so that they are not perfect copies of us. Imagine people splitting like algae, propagating like succulents or growing like crystals!

“You see. I don’t play jazz or classical too well, so I leave that to people who can replicate that style well. Instead, I make the music that I am prone to making.”

Or am I just bad at music.

“Is this what you’re scared of? Not being good enough.”

“Um… yes. But, I really do believe what I said.”

“Can’t the music you are prone to be bad?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you are scared of?”

“Why should I listen to my Bellhop!”

Gertuin was almost to the bottom floor. The elevator jerks to a stop, and the Bellhop jesters to the door suggesting that Gertuin should open it. My arms feel heavy. This must be what it feels like to be a bean bag. The elevator door handle is just a shallow lip and Gertuin has to crimp their hand to get leverage on it. Its like I’m rock climbing, and I am coming to the summit. The door won’t open. Gertuin pulls as hard as they can, but they feel weak.

“I need to see it. I want to know!”

“You’re too weak. You need to practice. Try rock climbing.”

“No! I want to see it now! I can’t wait!”

“Good thing this elevator shaft is a climbing wall.”

Gertuin eventually suggested they leave. After sunset, the colors began to fade into quietness, and sounds were no longer music. They both begin back down the hill, talking of warm showers and hot tea. Not that Gertuin didn’t like sounds that are not music, they are just different. It was a good point to transition from the hike.

Transitions from hiking to not hiking. How does that transition take place. Is it the process of leaving nature. How does one leave nature? Where are its boundaries? Maybe, nature is the place which is not home but some primordial and evanescent tangle of roots of all kinds. It’s an uncontaminated space. Although, Gertuin knew this was a bunch of bullshit. Nature is just as contaminated as everything.

Gertuin opens a protein bar. The rapper has the silhouette of a figure. There is a lightning bolt in its stomach and a gear on its head. “20% more power”, it reads. Gertuin tosses it into the understory of ferns, blackberries and decay.

“So you are contaminated and nature. And, so am I.”

“What the hell! Pick that up.”

“No. You don’t get it. It is a meditation.”

“What?”

“It’s a meditation on nature.”

“You’re a piece of work. I’ll pick it up.”

The sounds are no longer music. They buzz and tick and ring, but there is no rhythm or tone. Maybe it would sound like music if someone told me it did. Gertuin sits up. The room is dark, but they recognize the shape of their room. It’s staticky, like a cathode ray tube is shooting into their eyes. It is noise, not music. There is so much noise everywhere. Lights, shapes, colors, movement, pressure, softness, heat, screaming and rustling are always competing and bleeding into one another.

It’s my job to keep them separated.

“But, how do you feel about all of this?”

“Conflicted, but ok.”

Inspired by — The Mushroom at the End of the World by Anna Tsing