mosquito consciousness

my hearing is still eluding me from one ear, the one on my right. my doctor prescribed these antibiotic ear drops that i drop into my ear while lying on my side and let gravity run its course. it’s kind of like trying to unclog a drain, but this drain is really really plugged up. The world I hear from that ear is both muffled and extremely noisy. these loud high pitch ringing tones.  Some voices sound like they are far off in the distance. But listening to music–even the most pristine recordings of pianos and cellos and voices and harps sound grungy and static-y.

so I lie there on my bed, letting the drops sink down and into my eustachian tube, thinking about the howling arctic wind just outside my window.  negative something-teen below zero windchill. and what life forms can survive out there. like mosquitoes. what is the life span of the mosquito? Do they migrate south? Do they live inside little dens or tree trunks? Do they live in underground bunkers?  Or do they just die, one by one, or in masse? Are they conscious of any of this? We may never know what they are thinking, and we may never know anything about the stories they have to tell. We may never know about their upbringing or their families. We may never know if they are aware of their mortality–would they even contemplate it. “To what end?” they may ask, “For what purpose?”

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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