From a Brain Surgery Patient’s Log Book

February 14th 1997

9.00am: My submarine sinks.
9.22am:     It seems the batteries have been taken out.
10.30am:   These are depths not found in waking life.
10.44am:   I'm way down at the bottom now.
11.06am:   I'm in the blindest recesses of my mind.
11.53am:   A Mariana snailfish drags my submarine
                   along my temporary seafloor quarters.
12.34pm:   I acknowledge how it keeps the curtains closed.
12.35pm:   'How else would it be?' it asks.
1.58pm:     'Well, some people let the light in,' I argue.
2.11pm:     It looks at me, gaunt with loathing,
                   mulling over my use of the word light.
2.27pm:     I tell it that it's dark down here,
                   deep in my unconscious,
                   but presume this isn't new information.
3.09pm:     'What a cliché,' it replies.
3.11pm:     'Fear of the utter black? Claustrophobic?
                   Feel the cold easily?' it asks.
4.06pm:     'Well, none of this is usual,' I say.
4.33pm:     It tells me not to worry,
                   that it's all done in a blink.
                   'The sun will have set below water surface level
                   before you've realised it's no longer morning.'
5.19pm:     I ask to send a postcard to my loved ones.
                   They'll be wondering where I've got to.
5.38pm:     'No time for that,' I'm told,
                   and it adds, 'no souvenirs.
                   Here, in General Anaesthesia,' it says,
                   'we don't entertain the typical tourist.'
6.05pm:     I complain, 'You mean, I've come all this way
                   and I don't even get a lousy t-shirt?'
6.28pm:     'You've got to go all-in,' it insists,
                   'immerse yourself with the locals,
                   try the cuisine, make pitiful attempts
                   to wrap your tongue around our language.'
6.59pm:     Having finally become fluent
                   in asking for a flash light, the Mariana snailfish
                   packs me into my submarine again.
7.00pm:     I bob back up upon the surface,
                   back to life's insane brightness.