Imagine a vignette for each sense that captures the essence of experience. Not buying it? Check out the snippets:
My car rattles angrily without its catalytic converter firmly connected to the exhausted and cracked pipe it once loved. Roaring down country roads, it calls to the dead who shush the rusty beast to sleep at a stop sign. Sensing an intervention, a rev of the engine sends the monster into revolt and scatters the ghosts across corn fields like fall whispering winter.
Oh, flavored coffee—how you are a fudging liar. How can something that smells like caramel brownie nut sprinkled sundaes taste like ground up sawdust boiled with gym socks? The acidic aftertaste spoils my tongue for hours making people think I gargle shit for breakfast. Starbucks? It’s moonfarts. A hint of chocolate or is it a spoonful of dead beaver pond? I choke you down at a premium and you sour in my throat like cream abandoned on a summer counter. You were supposed to make me feel special but like a whore, you tinkled on my tongue.
I smell the dull humid air of summer in my kitchen and I think of the legends of faeries who live in the deep woods. Irishmen believe if you go into the woods, the faeries will take you. On the dank forest floor, they wait for the waft of a human walking. Amidst pine needles stinging the air, the sweet smell of life tempts their wrath like a baked cinnamon bun. The faeries, jealous of earthly beauty, seek to strike it out like a match. After the sulphur dies on their wings, there is no trace. I wonder if they can smell people in the wintertime when water freezes white and the trees expose their lavender hideaways.
Riding the train from east to west, I release into the rocking of the cars as they roll me past farm fields, wide rivers, glittering lakes, small mountain towns, and spacious desert scrub history knows but I have never touched. I feel part of something bigger, an experience that never happens on an airplane. When the sky is your neighbor, you feel impatient to land where you belong. Bumping along the uneven earth, the rails ground me into the night when the motion most reminds me of what it must have been like to be in the womb hurtling toward birth. Every moment electric, I hold my hand up to the passing scenery while the vibrations blow up my mind.
Six rows of black factory punched keys imprinted with blue and white characters, numbers, and commands decorate the keyboard. A pictogram of a leaping man rests on the left edge of the spacebar. It is colored blue so you know to press the matching Fn key three keys back at the same time to achieve this effect, which I imagine throws the user over the cliff into the ocean.