Sitting on a carpet. Dad is playing music, my mind is somewhere else. 
Then, a different song begins. The walls stretch up so high, the hallways 
are so dark. There is no world but here, and no world to deny. There is 
only a clean carpet and music from another reality. It's dark outside. Who 
knows what happened today, or happens tomorrow?

The music has a square texture, and a smooth bass. There are so many 
things I don't understand, in this small, dim world of mine. The music, 
and that which creates it. There are infinite tomorrows, waiting to spring 
forth. I cannot predict the future, since I do not know the past. All I 
know is that this is the world I have. This small, dim space, of white 
carpet and black windows. And in the corner, is the computer, Dad, and the 
music.

My mind swims with thoughts of dreams and calculations. I know that the 
world is complex, but I do not understand where to look. There is only 
what I see, and there is so much that is inaccessable. It is all a 
mystery, shrouded in child-like blur. The truth, if it exists, is locked 
away by my own shortcomings. Yet, this doesn't bother me.

It fascinates me.

It is now only a distant and faint memory, difficult to recall and 
impossible to verify. It was in that moment that life outside of life 
happened. I experienced something which may never come to me again; I know 
too much. I can only hope that by throwing myself into the strange and 
uncomprehendible, that I may again find myself in such a closed world. 
Then I can truly be lost, and alone, with nothing but an uncontrollable 
song, and a carpet to sit on and listen.

There is a foreign language, in writing and in voice, which I must learn.