Trigonometry

How often has an intrepid author thought to make their brain a metaphor? Perhaps a forest, a cabinet, a closet? 

I am scraping at something in the corner of mine. It may be some peeling plaster. I don’t know if I want to know what’s under it. It could be a fresh scab: or some putty holding a pipe in place.

I find it both cliche to describe the happenings in my head that are beyond language with metaphor or to ponder about the physical location of consciousness. It is there. And I don’t think I need to tell you where.

But, if I didn’t know about corners, plaster, scabs, pipes, metaphors, what would it feel like? Would I be able to feel it at all? Would I be able to feel at all? They say that pain creates the contrast against which all the rest stands out. By this logic, there must be some distinct thing behind pain allowing us to feel. It may, of course, be a circle. Something like Janus.

I could assert that the idea that things only exist in opposition to other things is absurd, and thus deconstruct my metaphor, but I will allow it to persist for a little longer I think.

There is a large cardboard box in a corner in my room. It is empty. It is too large for the recycling bin in the kitchen. Do you see the dilemma? I would have to bring it to the dumpster all at once. For some strange reason, although I think it is incredibly normal and, without question, logical, I think people might judge me for carrying a large cardboard box from my apartment (or as they say in the wretched land that is England: flat) to the dumpster. I’ve been considering cutting it up so that I can slowly dispose of it in small parts. Like how in those prison escape movies they carry pocketfulls of dust out to the yard.

Do you think that would be more normal?

I suspect not. 

The question at hand is the validity of this cardboard box’s existence. I am not entirely sure it is where I say it is: or if it was ever there. But I am hoping that by removing it I can complete at least one of the metaphors from above. 

Maybe, when I move it, something will appear from behind it that will set my brain free from its chains. Even more likely, when tearing it apart with my bare hands I will get a small paper cut on my palm, and as the blood patters down onto the shreds of cardboard on the floor, in between the space where I realize what has occurred, and began to worry about soiling a carpet that belongs to someone else, I will realize the ultimate truth hiding behind everything. Like that white guy in interstellar I will peek through a small hole in reality to understand the space time continuum and save the world. 

Can anyone tell me if that is actually what happens in interstellar?

Like and comment below—if that’s an option. If not, call me. I have very strangely decided to put my phone number on this website. Actually, it is no longer there. I can no longer be reached at the number. I am in England. You can email me.