is an online magazine of the literary arts.
25 January 2007 | Vol. 6, No. 4
Self-Portrait in a Chewing Gum Wrapper
Northbound to nowhere in November
or was it later and I was chewing
a piece of gum with such precision I thought
Goddamn I would make a beautiful
chewing machine. Every time I watch a movie
about human robots I constantly have to say to myself
You are not a cyborg, and sometimes simply
saying this is enough to get me through
the day. Everywhere I go everyone is telling me
in one language or another that the world
is going to end or that it ended back in 1984.
That book, they say, it already happened.
And grant you I understand what they mean, but I am
not a cyborg, You are not a cyborg. And if for no other reason
than my mother once told me when we were alone
that I was special, she knew, I continue to believe
in the essence of my subjective self. This is what
driving alone does to me. This is what
mothers do to children in general. And maybe
the world is over and maybe we're all
just computer functions, but even if that's the case
I'm still going for the high score in the video
arcade. Sometimes I think that's all that will be left
of us in the future. Two-hundred Pac-Man machines
with hundreds of three-letter initials, and all the numbers
corresponding. If nothing else it will look like the boxes
were consistently trying to say something to each other.
I am trying to say something to you, but I'm not sure
if it's coming out right. And I am driving north, but as of now
I don't know why. I keep aspirin in the glove box because
the world on days like this sometimes needs
a little incentive to lay off its inhabitants. I am not a cyborg.
You are not a cyborg. And you are not a cyborg either.
About the author:
Clay Matthews's work is published (or will be) in Black Warrior Review, Gulf Coast, LIT, Backwards City Review, CrossConnect, Coconut, H_NGM_N, New Orleans Review, and elsewhere. His chapbook, Muffler, is recently out from H_NGM_N B_ _KS.