[b]Jonathan Safran Foer
Only a few months into our marriage, we started marking off areas in the apartment as “Nothing Places,” in which one could be assured of complete privacy, we agreed that we never would look at the marked-off zones, that they would be nonexistent territories in the apartment in which one could temporarily cease to exist, the first was in the bedroom, by the foot of the bed, we marked it off with red tape on the carpet, and it was just large enough to stand in, it was a good place to disappear, we knew it was there but we never looked at it, it worked so well that we decided to create a Nothing Place in the living room, it seemed necessary, because there are times when one needs to disappear while in the living room, and sometimes one simply wants to disappear, we made this zone slightly larger so that one of us could lie down in it, it was a rule that you never would look at that rectangle of space, it didn’t exist, and when you were in it, neither did you, for a while that was enough, but only for a while.[/b]
That’s what we need here. A “Nothing Place” for the Kids.
What about guns with sensors in the handles that could detect if you were angry, and if you were, they wouldn’t fire, even if you were a police officer?
What about skyscrapers made with moving parts, so they could rearrange themselves when they had to, and even open holes in their middles for planes to fly through?
On the other hand, what about reality?
Don’t you find that strange? I can’t believe I never found it strange before. It’s like your name, how you don’t notice it for so long, but when you finally do, you can’t help but say it over and over, and wonder why you never thought it was strange that you should have that name, and that everyone has been calling you that name for you whole life.
Clearly, some things are as strange as you need them to be. And other things aren’t.
Thinking would keep me alive. But now I am alive and thinking is killing me.
It’ll do that sometimes.
One can build a perfect home, but not live in it.
Or submit the perfect post. And not believe in it.
I can’t even say ‘hair pie,’ I told him, unless I’m talking about an actual pie made out of rabbits…
I’m not thinking of that myself.