I READ SOMEWHERE

that our souls are borrowed from the sky. I read somewhere else we possess six or seven souls that take form as tiny people who live inside our body as if it were a boarding house. All of them, borrowed from the sky, I imagine. This explains a lot. This explains the voices, the impulses, the cravings, perhaps even the irrational draw towards pistachios at bowling alleys, for example.

Sometimes I like to think of names for my many souls. Here are some: Aunt Hester, Borage von Klumptervamp, Elmwood, Ernster, Peony Tonic, Piquewique, Dr. Wilmur Tourniquet, Ella Rose Mayhem and Sea Horse.

It would be too lengthy to describe everyone. But here are a few of my souls as I imagine them:

Aunt Hester: boils pea soup and hoards cotton balls in secret. She stows them inside my brain tubing. I know what she is up to, but there is nothing I can do to stop her. The cotton balls soak up my memories. I loose more and more in every passing hour. I can barely keep up.

Sea Horse: water bound. If it were up to her, we would be submerged completely and entirely and eternally. Why not? It’s a lot safer. “Bruises only happen on land”, says Sea Horse.

Ernster: enjoys suitcases and antique trunks. He is always trying to trap the other souls inside of them. One day he will succeed and all of us will travel someplace very far away. He has a lisp and a stutter and will engage you in lengthy and obscure discussions at inconvenient intervals. This is part of his trapper strategy.

Dr. Wilmur Tourniquet: chief medical officer. She drives a tiny red speedboat somewhat recklessly through the canals. She wears large sunglasses and lengthy scarves. She dates foreigners and speaks Latin. No one can understand her, but we suspect she is very intelligent.

Ella Rose Mayhem: humming bird.

There are so many others, but lets not for now. You’ve probably heard enough. I know I have. It’s a battle of wills in here and at times, sometimes, a triumph.