Sometimes I go to speak but what is there is death. These times fill me with dread of other times in the future, when I must watch others squirm.
These breaks between my thoughts are more than silences. In silence, thoughts still move – restless, alive, uncertain. Thoughts might be tyrants, or floods. Awkwardness can fall over the quiet, but enough air or momentum remains for the conversation to change direction, for the blockage to be overcome.
These little deaths seem to be without cure, or of course, they would be silences. My mind, like a fitful computer, seems to shut off without warning in these times. I think you could argue it is some form of catatonia. Perhaps a depression, or an outburst from the unconscious so heinous it attacks the structure or poise of my mind.
But since I am without thoughts, I am without memory of those times. I merely see them recorded on other faces. I would call it a seizure, but I have seized before, and the experience was different.
When I seized I flew in some endorphin field. The bright lights of the classroom receded into my mind and I felt an orgasmic blankness in this world beyond feeling.
I don’t know where I go when my thoughts die. Perhaps that’s what concerns me most and I am embarrassed to escape the velocity of my mind for a nowhere place like death.