don't be jealous

" Because they were squirrels; real squirrels. (And there were thousands) This isn't some kind of metaphor. Goddamn this is real."

-Shellac, The Squirrel Song.

A family of nervous rodents have taken up residence in my brain. Normally this would be slightly worrying. Rodents? Brain? Not normally two thoughts that inspire peace and calm when placed side by side. However, the situation is compounded by their anxiety. You see, the squirrels... well they believe that there are voices in their heads. Voices which, as luck would have it, want to talk to me.

So there are LAYERS to this craziness. Now i get along fine with rodents, think they are cute in fact. With the big gnawy teeth and the chubby cheeks. Nocturnal, quiet, fuzzy- what's not to like? Yeah yeah, rabies, plague, etc. All bad PR i tell you. So i have insane rodents. In my skull. They are trying desperately to communicate with me, but alas, fuck if i can understand the little bastards.

Perhaps they will start to act out little pantomimes. Shadow plays from the depths of my brain. Sleazy tales of drunken lust and epic tributes to walnuts. Will there be leading men? Should i applaud? What is the protocol here anyway?

A better question is why didn't the voices cut out the middle man? Are these strange directives too terrible for the human mind? Is the squirrel brain more in tune to the echoes from space? A quirk of biology? A matter of linguistics? Are squeaks and chitters a better means of conveyance? Are there subtleties there that can help decipher the message. Is it the key to unlocking a terrible secret?

Or are the voices just drunk and fucking with me? I don't know, and likely never will, so until then I'm going to sit back and watch the play. The curtain is rising, and look! I think the one who is stuffing his cheek pouches is a bad guy.