The child, Lucy, asked to be implanted first. We flew to China to see the Transplantation device doctor, Dr. Woo.
Seriously, this was his name.
They say multiples cannot be treated in psychology. Like sociopaths and borderlines, multiples are cast into a category then given a DSM diagnosis which solves an insidious insurance system’s analysis.
She cannot be treated, they said. Normal psychotherapies cannot be applied. There are too many people to work with at once. If you’d heard her brain, it’ll remind you of why not many people can listen to jazz fusion. She puked on my couch. She came to our session loaded, on something. Have you heard the little girl, Lucy? It’s creepy.
All of that said, then more, can leave a human feeling hopeless, rejected, and judged.
The truth is We are All Multiples.
There are parts we exile, out of shame, which comes from a code infused into our consciousness. We don’t come with code. It’s programmed.
The Gnu is a code wuth the sense of anarchy and humor.
The Gnu delights in humanity, in stupidity, in longevity, particularly in this human, this woman, this Charlotte. Don’t be mistaken. The Gnu is genderless, without race, without religion, without end, amen.
The New was requested and my Gnu consciousness made the molecular leap seventeen hours ahead of whatever time slot people lived and died in, that time.
It may have been a few days ago, or tomorrow, but soy and vegan soup were consumed en masse.
We never traded brains. We wrote a new code, not binary, not fixed in legalism or label, but a code nevertheless. It is the origin of humanity, the origin of our species, even before consciousness existed, one sharp spark, a star, a whim, a galaxy.
The ice cream truck tinkered through the parking lot while the faucets ran hot, then cold.
