Dickens and the disappearing act

I’ve got a couple of theories about where words go when you erase them:

The first theory is that they go into the dream-reality and get transformed into words that people say and hear in dreams. I mean, no human brain could possibly grasp, let alone form, the parallel and high levels of unrelated random nonsense that most of my dreams are made up of. It gets a little scary when you ask yourself what the violet raccoon told you about non-violent-communication and realize that it isn’t a trick question.

Second. Maybe they stock up auto-correct’s vocabulary. That would explain the times when auto-correct refuses to accept a perfectly legit word or when it spits out a word and you are left wondering if there’s a ghost in your house, then wondering if it’s you and if you really are alive and what on earth does it mean to be ‘alive’ because it’s definitely not just about existing and basically contemplating and doubting all of existence in general.

Another theory states that the words that just got erased in a remote town of southern France just got erased from an incomplete oral statement made by a person in Queensland. What I mean is that they simply forgot the word halfway through the sentence and took a couple of seconds to look for a synonym, perhaps in the middle of a high school debate with a million people calculating and blinking and breathing before them, hoping beyond hope that no one just erased the synonyms too.

Speaking of memories, do you know the feeling when you’re walking down the street and you look at a person and find them vaguely familiar, so you rack your brains trying to figure out where you saw them and if you saw them and wonder if you were, in fact, possessed by the most adorable little cotton-candy-pink ghost when this person catches you looking and you catch the shadow of a look of confused recognition pass over their face and they almost, almost raise their hand halfway up in a half wave but stop and wonder if that would be awkward because, to be honest, they have absolutely no idea who you are either and finally, after a bunch of silent negotiations of eye contact and confused half-smiles, you decide to give each other an understanding grin each and part ways without a word? (Whoa. That’s some sentence. Dickens’ influence, perhaps…)

It’s a rather peculiar feeling. Much like shining a toy laser flashlight into the sky and wondering if some creature of some planet received an unexplainable signal from your humble experiment. Hope has it’s better days.

T. E. Pyrus


One thought on “Dickens and the disappearing act

  1. If only Dickens knew you before his demise, and read this post and realised its premise…he would not have died wondering about his verbose prose…and may be, would have recognised what really people related to in his work and life, beyond his over bearing nose 😛 XD


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